


This Means War

by Torra_Katze



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: 'cuz he deserves his own tag, Baby!bots, Bumblebee is too cute for words, Cliffjumper - Freeform, Don't Judge Me, F/F, F/M, I Don't Even Know, I swear, I'm not kidding, I'm sure I'll think of more, I'm trying to think of more tags, Like all the characters, M/M, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Seekers everywhere, Sideswipe being Sideswipe, Threesome - F/F/F, Threesome - M/M/M, also Seekers, and a lot of pairings, everyone's a fucking BAMF!, it'll get better I swear, just give me time, meaning pranks and general tomfoolery, more than I'm sure I need, no really, not even a little, stay with me here, there's so much going on in this story, totally not canon, way too many characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-19 23:02:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1487356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torra_Katze/pseuds/Torra_Katze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn't the first time the Autobots had welcomed newcomers, but this was definitely the first time they'd welcomed newcomers quite like this. Especially a femme Seeker that was carrying the sparklings of two femme Praxians, or two mechs with the optics of Decepticons. </p><p>Were these new arrivals, with their broken bonds and wounded sparks, to be trusted? Particularly when they bring home some unsavory individuals who they swear are trustworthy?</p><p>Optimus seems to think so, but he's biased.</p><p>Or, the one where Prowl is practically vibrating with excitement at the arrival of more Praxians that aren't Bluestreak or Smokescreen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival (or, Surprise! There's a Carrier!)

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting on Archive, so bear with me.
> 
> Yeah, okay, so this is my first Transformers fic, but I've been a fan since I was potty-training, don't judge. This is also really not canon, not even a little bit. I basically threw in all of my favorite Transformers, along with all of my favorite pairings, and had a party with it. If you don't like Soundwave or Starscream, or any of the Decepticon Seekers, you're gonna have a bad time. They are at the top of my favorite characters list and that likely to not change any time soon. Once we hit the third chapter they're gonna be in here a lot. 
> 
> Please forgive any discrepancies in grammar, spelling, or canon (as I said), I don't have a beta, so I'm combing through this on my own, and I know I miss things.
> 
> Ignore the comics, the movie, and everything passed Rodimus Prime's ascension into leadership, because I still cry every time I watch Optimus and Starscream die (even though I know they come back) and I'm 18. Yes, Hotrod, Ultra Magnus, Kup, and all the others from the movie are in here, but, like I said, I just threw in all my favorite characters and had fun with it.
> 
> Points of view will skip around within the Autobots and my OCs as time goes on. The story's half-way finished, and I already know how and where I'm gonna end it, so be patient, 'kay? This is a serious fic, but there's gonna be some fun times (probably not sexy times though).
> 
> Primus, long notes are long. Okay, I'm done. Just, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

“Optimus, sir, there’s an unregistered object entering the atmosphere about thirteen kilometers southwest from here.” Red Alert’s optics flit across the screen. “It’s— No, that’s impossible…”

Optimus Prime, in all his red and blue glory, stepped up behind his communications officer and peered over his shoulder at the view screen, “What’s not possible, Red Alert?”

“The signature is Cybertronian, but doesn’t register as Autobot, or Decepticon.”

Optimus’ optics narrowed as his servos tightened on the back of Red’s chair, “Comm Prowl and the other officers.”

“Yes sir…”

“Has the vessel landed yet?” Optimus took a step back and crossed his massive arms.

“Not yet, sir, but I’d say we have less than four breems before it does.” Red Alert shot a glance over his shoulder at his Prime. “Should I sound the cautionary alert?”

“No. For now, set everyone on standby. Whoever is out on patrol, bring them back in. We don’t know what this is; we can’t be too cautious.” Optimus turned his helm to look over his shoulder when his SIC and TIC entered through the door, “The others?”

“Blaster and ‘Hide are—”

“Right here, Prime,” Ironhide grouched, walking through the doors with Blaster on his heels.

Jazz, unfazed by the interruption, continued easily, “— and Hatchet’s dealing with ‘Jack, who’s still in the medbay without an arm, so they prolly ain’t gonna make it.”

Optimus nodded, “Understandable.”

“Sir, what is the purpose of this emergency call?” Prowl asked bluntly, shifting on his pedes beside Jazz.

“Red Alert has informed me that an unregistered, _Cybertronian_ , spacecraft has just broken through Earth’s atmosphere near here. We have less than a few breem to weigh the potential risks and decide the threat level this appearance warrants.”

Prowl frowned, “You say the ship is unregistered? Entirely unregistered, or without a specific faction?”

Red Alert checked the screen once more, “Both… It makes no sense though! The readings I’m getting are for an old model exploration ship; the same ones scientists used before the war to search out new sources of energon. The only problem: most of them were destroyed when the Senate bombed Vos, and the rest later when Megatron destroyed Praxis.” At the tactician’s subtle flinch, Red grimaced, “Sorry… But, yeah, no sense at all… The last record of one being sent out was…” Here, the Lamborghini pulled up a few records from Teletraan 1, “About three decaorn before the war broke out. It was reported missing, but by that point, no one wanted to waste resources searching for it. There were ten passengers aboard… two Seeker trines, with two scientists and a warrior class a piece, and four Praxian… bodyguards? That’s a weird combination…” He sat back with a confused optic shutter.

At that, Prowl’s frown deepened, “Very. Bodyguards you say? The only possible explanation is that they were from lower families who were less involved in the politics, like Bluestreak’s.”

“So, what’s the plan, Prowler? We gonna try and play nice?” Jazz leaned around his bondmate to look him in the faceplates.

“For now… We’ll bring along Bumblebee, Bluestreak, and the Aerial bots just in case there _are_ still Seekers onboard, we have some way to counter them.” Prowl pressed a servo gently to the side of his head, no doubt comm’ing those he needed.  
\--------------------

Once everyone had gathered, they were off, Prowl promising to dole out the plans onsite. On their comms, Red Alert guided them in the right direction with Blaster by his side monitoring the progress of the shuttle.

_~The shuttle has just crashed. I repeat: the shuttle has just crash landed! ~_

“Are we still proceeding in the correct direction, Red Alert?” Prowl took stock of his surroundings, but saw no sign of the ship.

_~Yes. The thermal scanners aren’t showing much. The ship seems only slightly damaged, all things considered. I can’t really tell from where I am… There should be a ridge just in front of you, once you’re over that you should see it. I can’t tell if there’s life inside, my sensors can’t breach the thick hull. ~_

Red Alert was right. Once they’d cleared the small hill they laid optics on the ship, but it wasn’t only _slightly_ damaged. It may not have been, say, on _fire_ , but it certainly had been beat up at some point in the past. The hull was riddled with scorch marks from fusion cannons and ion blasters and lasers, but the metal was thick enough that none of the shots made it all the way through. Bits and pieces of debris trailed behind it, loosened by the obvious fight and broken away by its impact to Earth.

Prowl transformed just out of sight of the ship, “Bluestreak, I want you to stay up here and keep your scope on the entrance. If at any point whoever is inside becomes hostile, use caution and sense. If we have it under control, don’t react. Do not shoot if the situation is being handled. We need to know why they’re here, and what they want. Understood?”

The grey and red Praxian nodded, “Of course, Prowl! Loud and clear, but I hope they aren’t bad… What if they’re good guys, what do I do? Do I come down and join you or do I stay here?” The chirpy ‘bot rambled questioningly.

“Just stay up here until I call you down.” Prowl sighed.

“Not a problem!” and the ‘bot jogged off, searching for the best view of the opening.

The black and white SIC turned to the Aerial bots next, “I want you to stay up here, as well. If any of the Seekers who were reportedly onboard still are I want you ready to take off on my signal.”

Silverbolt nodded silently motioning to his brothers, the lot of them stepping away in quest for a makeshift launchpad.

“The rest of us will go down there and wait for them to show themselves, or prepare to search the ship.” Optimus said for the rest of them, before transforming again and heading up and over the crest of earth.

Fortunately, no sooner than they reached the shuttle’s entrance did it open with a worrying groan. It was dark within the vessel, but they saw the shadow moving in the opening before a dark _Seeker_ body spilled out gracelessly and tumbled to the dirt.

The mech was mostly black, with dark green forearms, servos, and thrusters, and olive green accents. He was also unconscious, sprawled out on the sand with bent wings and dents everywhere. Energon was leaking out around his body from multiple lacerations to the legs and back, and one nasty blaster wound to the left shoulder.

Ironhide was already calling for Ratchet over the comms when Optimus turned to him. As Jazz was making his way over the injured to try welding the worst of the leaks, another body immerged from the ship just as injured, but at least on his feet.

This Seeker was purple, almost like Skywarp, but instead of a black body, his was a navy blue. His blue optics were half-shuttered in pain, and he clutched the side of the door unsteadily, but he managed to snarl angrily and raise his arm gun with intent to harm, “Stay away from him!” he all but growled, tottering the rest of the way down the ramp to crouch protectively over the other mech, cannon aimed at Jazz’s forehelm.

Jazz’s arms came up slowly, “Calm down, mech. Ah just wanna close up those leaks. He’s gonna bleed out before our medic can get here if Ah don’t.”

The new Seeker’s snarl never wavered, “How can I trust you?”

“Ah’ll give ya mah gun, how’s that sound?”

Prowl made a tiny protesting sound at the back of his throat that was just loud enough for the Seeker to catch. He peeked around the saboteur to give the SIC an assessing look, then nodded and held out his free hand to Jazz. The TIC handed over the gun without prompt then lowered himself to his knees and pulling out a solder and beginning his work while the Seeker hovered worriedly, ignoring his own injuries in favor of protecting his companion.

“Fallout! Warpspeed! Where are you?!” a terrified voice called from the crashed spacecraft.

The blue Seeker turned only just to shout back, “Out here Stardancer! Careful, we have company.” His optics never left Jazz and the prone mech.

“Warpspeed?” Multiple pede steps came closer to the entrance, and much to Prowl’s shock a _femme Praxian_ appeared in the opening, with another peeking eagerly around her doorwings.

The first femme was very white, with only the barest amount of pale blue on her arms and legs, and two light yellow stripes down her chassis. The only true splashes of color were her striking gold optics. Even her small chevron was white against her pale blue helm.

The other femme was almost her opposite in coloring: mostly black, with silver forearms, hips, and chassis. Light blue stripes decorated her doorwings, and the same color graced her chevron.

The front femme regarded their little group distrustfully, staying in front of the curious one protectively.

“Protostar let me through! I wanna see Fallout! Don’t make me go get Supernova!”

Protostar frowned, but moved out of the way obligingly. The other, Stardancer by her voice, stepped down the ramp and skirted around Jazz to come to Warpspeed’s side, “Is he gonna be okay?” she asked anxiously.

Jazz nodded, “Yeah, it looks worse than it is. He’ll be fine once Ratch’ patches ‘im up and gets some energon in ‘im. Right now he’s just out cuz he lost energon, but it’s not life threatenin’.” The white femme stepped further out of the ship, peering over Stardancer and Warpspeed to observe Jazz’s work on Fallout. Golden optics flicked up to watch the group of Autobots after a moment though, as Prowl shuffled his feet. His faceplates were frozen in an expression of hopeful shock, blue optics focused unerringly on the two femmes.

Protostar’s doorwings hitched up and Prowl’s hesitant step forward aborted swiftly. She stalked down the ramp to hover behind the other femme, watching the mech Praxian with focused golden optics. She growled when Jazz stood up without warning to subspace his soldering gun, and pulled the darker femme behind her defensively.

“Careful, femme, Ah ain’t gonna hurt her, Ah promise!” Jazz backed up quickly and was rewarded when the territorial femme stopped her growling.

Warpspeed placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Protostar calm yourself before you get shot. Where is Supernova?”

Protostar flicked her optics to Warpspeed, “Inside, tending to Skyfall and Solarwind with Blackhole.” She said in a surprisingly deep—for a femme—voice.

Warpspeed whipped around to face Protostar, the taller mech gaping incredulously at the white femme, “She shouldn’t be up! What is she doing, that crazy glitch? Why didn’t you stop her?”

Protostar gave the Seeker a truly fearsome glower, “You think I didn’t try? You’re welcome to attempt it yourself.” She waved back at the vessel. “I’m her bondmate and she wouldn’t even listen to me, so what makes you think you could do better?” The Praxian’s doorwings rose higher and higher in agitation, and Stardancer pressed up against the other femme’s back, cooing and petting over the stiff sensory wings soothingly. Warpspeed snarled at the femme’s attitude dismissing her with a flip of his wings and going to kneel by the other mech’s head, pulling it carefully into his lap. Protostar’s ire reached a whole new level, armor rippling like an angry Earth cat.

Optimus observed the scene in silence, appraising the newcomers with curious optics.

The irritated femme settled with the ongoing petting, and calming clicks and warbles which sounded suspiciously like Seeker-talk. She continued to scowl at the mech in frustration not at him, but at the thought of Supernova moving around independently.

Suddenly, Optimus broke his silence, “How did this happen?” He made an all-encompassing gesture with one large servo, deep voice rumbling in his broad chest.

Protostar and Warpspeed shared a look before the older mecha faced the leader of the Autobots, “Perhaps introductions are in order first. I am Warpspeed, and this,” he stroked the smooth helm of the black and green Seeker, “is my bonded Fallout.”

“I’m Protostar.” Said femme stepped forward slightly, “Behind me is one of my bondmates, Stardancer. The other, Supernova, is inside with her twin Blackhole caring for Skyfall, and Stardancer’s brother Solarwind who were injured in our fight to escape from Cybertron’s atmosphere and another skirmish just outside of this planet’s solar system.”

“Jeez, ya’re crazy! What were ya doin’ on Cybertron! It’s under Decepticon control!” Ironhide exclaimed, optics wide with disbelief.

Protostar shot the red mech a withering glare, “We didn’t know that at the time. Frelling Pit, we didn’t know what a Decepticon _was_ at the time! Cool your jets, rust bucket and let us explain!”

Warpspeed spoke up again, cutting off any verbal, or physical, return fire Ironhide might’ve had, “Fallout and I are the last surviving members of the original crew. We had heard the signs of an uprising soon to come, led by Megatron, and we wanted nothing to do with it. Our— our trinemate,” Warpspeed’s optics glittered tellingly for a moment, “Fallout’s younger sister Solarflare was carrying at the time, so was her bonded’s trinemate Skyjumper. We told no one, and requested a mission for energon from the Senate. They gave it to us, and sent along with four Praxian’s of the same mindset as us: to get the pit off Cybertron before everything came down around our audials and come back once everything blew over. Only, it never did…

“We became close friends with the Praxian’s. When it became apparent that the war was only just beginning, Protostar’s creators came up with the idea to send a false report that our vessel had had a critical malfunction and there were no survivors. By then, Skyfall, Supernova, and Blackhole were in their infant forms, having just separated from Skyjumper and Solarflare, but Protostar’s creators, as well as Solarwind and Stardancer’s creators, were with spark. So Stardancer’s carrier hacked a frequency and sent the information off with the hopes that the Senate would be too busy with the uprising to come searching for us. After several metacycles without response or interference, we discovered a small abandoned outpost on a distant planet far enough away from Cybertron to keep out of any sort of spotlight, and we settled there. We found that there was enough natural energy from its star to power our solar converters and keep us supplied with just enough energon to sustain us with a small store left over.

“It was only after Protostar, Stardancer, and Solarwind were separated from their carriers that tragedy struck for the first time. Wildstrike, Protostar’s creator, claimed to have found a cavern of energon crystals in an unstable cave system near the outpost. She convinced her mate Shaderacer, as well as Steelfrost and Breakeven, Stardancer’s creators, to follow her to the cavern and help harvest the crystals for our use. Like I said before, the cave structure was very unsound, due to seismic activity deep in the planet’s inner layers. We tried to convince her that we had enough energon to last us for many more vorns to come, but she was insistent that with more mouths to feed, we’d need more energon to sustain us and went anyway. The caves collapsed on their heads and we could never recover their bodies without risking ourselves as well.

“So we raised the sparklings. We knew next to nothing about Praxian tradition, but we did our best. It was only a few vorns ago that we decided to leave the outpost to try and return to Cybertron. We’re all proficient in combat and trained the young ones to be so as well, so we thought we could handle any outcome...”

Warpspeed and Protostar shared a heavy look, and Protostar ducked her head mournfully.

The Seeker heaved a shuddering breath, “When we arrived above Cybertron, we were hailed by a one optic’d mech—”

“Shockwave…” Ironhide growled lowly, hand twitching toward his gun unconsciously.

Warpspeed gave the red security officer an equally chilling look, “Yes, _Shockwave_ ,” he spat with a sneer, those pretty Seeker faceplates twisting in fury. “He hailed us, asked us if we had a designation. We replied negative and he told us to send a convoy for a POWWOW to determine our trustworthiness. Fallout and I were by far the best at combat, so we stayed behind to watch over Protostar and the others—who we knew were old enough to protect themselves and their bondmates, but we couldn’t be too safe. When Solarflare and the others arrived on Cybertron, she relayed through our trine bond what was happening. At first, Shockwave’s questioning was—for the most part—innocent, asking what we’ve been doing, where we’ve been, how many were left on the ship, but then he started on the militaristic demands… join the mighty Megatron! Destroy the Autobots! Winddancer, Solarflare’s mate, immediately denied all requests; we just wanted peace, energon, and a place to call home. He told Shockwave if we couldn’t find that on Cybertron, then we’d find it elsewhere. That’s when everything went downhill faster than a turbofox after a petro-rabbit.

“Shockwave lost all façade of diplomacy. He—he shot them. He shot them all without remorse. Fallout and I were nearly crippled by the pain of losing Solarflare while she was still connected to us by the bond. We blacked out for a few kliks and when we came to, battle cruisers were on their way and closing fast. They fired, and we were forced to pull evasive maneuvers. One of the cruisers got underneath us and blew a hole through the cargo bay floor. Fallout, Skyfall, Solarwind, and I fought them off while Protostar and Stardancer steered the ship and Blackhole commandeered the weapons system. We escaped, but only just.

“We drifted for roughly a vorn before they caught up to us, and repeated the whole process. Once we’d escaped again, we found your signal, and steered here, hoping for salvation or at least refuge until we were healthy, and that’s how we ended up here…” Warpspeed trailed off awkwardly, unsure of how to plead for safety for his sparklings—because they were _his_ sparklings barring relations—hope in his spark of sparks that the Autobots weren’t secretly worse than the Decepticons.

Prowl did the calculations for a moment, “By that timing, you arrived on Cybertron not too long after we woke up on Earth.” He stared steadily at the small group of rebels, “We’ve been here for fourteen Earth years, or about a vorn and a half. Before that, we were in stasis for four million years. Just under four Gigavorn.”

There was a lull in the conversation as the newcomers tried to process that new information. Optimus took the opportunity to deliberate quietly with his officers on the pros and cons of allowing the newcomers to stay with them. Warpspeed used the time to gently coo and click at his rousing bondmate, who groaned softly in muted pain and warbled back.

So quiet was it that Protostar nearly had a spark-attack when the white ambulance came tearing over the ridge, sirens whooping.

The jumpy femme hissed like a startled cat, shoving Stardancer behind her and backing the both of them towards the dark opening of the shuttle. Ratchet transformed a few feet from an equally alarmed Warpspeed, kneeling down beside the two mechs to check over his most recent patient.

Armor bristling, doorwings arched, Protostar furthered the ‘startled cat’ look by staring at the grouchy medic with wide gold optics as her bondmate peeped out from under her slightly bent arm.

“What is going on here?”

From the darkness of the gaping entrance a new mecha stepped free of the clinging shadows, bringing no few gasps from the surrounding Autobots.

“A _carrier_?!”

Ratchet’s helm whipped around so fast, Prowl was afraid he’d tear a muscle cable.

The newly-arrived femme Seeker jumped in surprise at the exclamation, quickly being tugged behind the over-protective Praxian, who hissed and clicked in the Seeker language angrily. The Seeker replied, incensed, and pushed out in front of the other, stepping regally down to Ratchet.

“Hello, I’m Supernova. Is there anything I can do to help? I’m fairly knowledgeable in repairing these slag-heads after they do something stupid.”

The white and red medic gaped at the obviously carrying femme, blue optics huge in his faceplates, “Er, no—I, uh, I have him…” his optics dropped down to Supernova’s distended abdomen, “Do you know how many you’re having?” he asked haltingly.

He femme placed a delicate hand upon her fuselage, “No. We don’t have that sort of technology aboard the _Discovery_. I was unable to ascertain the number of our children.” Supernova smiled benignly. “Perhaps you should tend to my adoptive creator now?”

Ratchet started, jerking around to tend to a hazy Fallout with a sheepish grimace. Supernova chuckled quietly, but stayed clear of the ambulance’s working area.

Protostar made a hiss-click sound towards her newly arrived bondmate that Stardancer made a face at. Supernova spat back a ferocious reply and Protostar’s optics widened, then narrowed dangerously. The white femme’s engine revved angrily and she snarled a Cybertronian expletive that raised optic ridges. As she wheeled around she muttered something under her intake, garnering a soft gasp from Stardancer and a growl from Supernova, and stormed inside.

There was a crash from within the ship. Stardancer flinched and Supernova scowled, “Between the two of us, you’d think _she_ was the carrier, what with all her Primus damned mood swings.”

Stardancer flinched as another bang sounded, “I should go talk her down…”

Supernova stayed stubbornly angry for half a second longer, before visibly deflating. With a rueful shake of her head, she stepped passed her shorter bondmate, running a soft servo over her stiff doorwing, “No, I’ll do it. I put her in that mood; I’ll get her out of it. But if we don’t return in ten breems, come search for us; I might have killed her.” With that, the colorful Seeker followed her irritated bondmate into the darkness.

The Autobots watched in morbid fascination the drama happening before them. There were, of course, bondmates within Metroplex—one does not live and bleed with others without feelings sparking, sometimes literally—but after vorn upon vorn of living near their particular brands of drama, one becomes immune, and they become predictable.

Prowl and Jazz for example: once every few human months, Jazz does something particularly stupid in the interest of furthering the Autobot cause and Prowl loses his ironclad control quite spectacularly and proves why no one should piss him off.

He yells and screams and rants at Jazz’s prone form (consciousness is optional) until he loses steam or until his vocal modulator shorts out—whichever comes first—then stalks off to sulk and won’t talk to Jazz for weeks. Which is commendable because the smaller black and white is never kicked from their quarters and as far as anyone can tell, they still sleep in the same berth. Eventually though, Jazz breaks through all the angry indignation and strikes the core of the issue: Prowl is terrified of losing Jazz and being alone. At that point, all the insecurity and fear comes to the forefront, Prowl comes as close to crying as is possible for him, Jazz apologizes, they interface (several times over the course of the night) and all is well in their happy little bubble.

Rinse; repeat…

This though… This is new.

The only femme within the city is Arcee, who is currently in the process of trying to get Springer to notice her advances—the triple changer is being particularly obtuse in that regard—and the only multi-bond is between Ratchet and the twins, who were all pretty volatile in their own rights, so everyone expected an explosion of nuclear proportions to occur once every few weeks.

So, many in Metroplex had never had the chance to experience all the numerous types and flavors that came with bondmates, all the varieties and variations that had been present during Cybertron’s Golden Age. This was new to even Optimus, who, old as he was, had never witnessed a femme bond quite like this.

Stardancer wiggled her doorwings for a moment, watching the dark entrance intently, before turning around to smile awkwardly at the staring mechas, “Sorry about them. They’re both pretty headstrong on a normal basis; throw carrierhood into the mix and you’ve got a ticking time-bomb.” The dark femme chuckled, “It doesn’t help that Protostar is all kinds of protective and will hardly let Supernova do anything but laze about, which she does _not_ appreciate.”

“Will they be okay?” Bluestreak questioned. Ironhide jumped, he hadn’t even heard the kid come up beside him!

Blue optics slid to the ship anxiously, “They should be. They won’t hurt each other, if that’s what you’re worried about. Supernova was joking, and Protostar would never get mad enough to lose herself and strike one of us.”

“I’m finished, if anyone cares.” Ratchet quipped in dryly. Fallout was awake and aware, suffering his mate’s cooing and petting with a calm face.

The Autobots, however, were unsettled at the color of the mech’s optics.

Blood red, like a Decepticon...

If the bondmates noticed the wariness of their visitors, they didn’t acknowledge it. Stardancer, on the other servo, was more perceptive than many gave her credit for, and she very quickly discerned the subtle tension in the shoulder struts of the group of freedom-fighters. She said nothing, but noted it for future perusal.

“Stardancer, a word please…?”

The dark femme swung around to once again peer into the bowels of the spacecraft. The deep, resonating voice was accompanied by a pair of floating scarlet orbs hovering near the entrance. They shuttered once, twice, and then Blackhole appeared, revealing himself to the Autobots. Emerging like a shadow come to life from the still-dark doorway the Seeker treaded down the ramp, stopping just before reaching Stardancer.

Blackhole truly resembled his namesake to a T: armor painted a matte black with only the barest amount of accents in a shiny, rich purple lingering within creases and folds of his plating.

“Is there a particular reason why Protostar is throwing a fit? Or why my sister looks like she’s going to slag someone, namely your bondmate?”

Stardancer shrugged, “No more reason than she normally has. Supernova said she was going to handle it, but apparently negotiations have gone downhill.” The cheerful femme motioned Blackhole to her side, “Blackie, these are the Autobots! Autobots, this is Supernova’s twin Blackhole. Play nice while I help Warpspeed steady Fallout. Why not discuss the terms of our stay? You and Sky were always the best at that kind of thing.” Stardancer bounced to her adoptive creators, bad mood having blown over.

Blackhole chucked, red optics glowing, “Apparently I am to weave a verbal contract with you. Stardancer tends to jump to conclusions; I hope she isn’t being presumptuous.”

Optimus’ shoulder struts leaped with his mild chortle, “No, not presumptuous, merely keen. We just got through deciding where to put you in our city. I wish I could give you the opportunity to choose where you live, but seeing as we’re currently in the middle of a war, I feel it might be safer if you came with us instead of wandered about Earth, at least until the sparklings are born. Speaking of sparklings, if _I_ may be a bit bold myself, I think the morale of the crew will skyrocket once there are little ones to run about their pedes once again, assuming you wish to stay after they separate. The birth of a new generation is a momentous occasion, one to be celebrated, no?”

“Sir, I could not have said it better myself,” Blackhole rumbled, smirk tilting his lip plates good-naturedly. “I think… perhaps we might stay for a while once they are separated. You might have just what we need. Something we’ve never truly had before.”

Prowl’s helm canted to the side, “Oh, and what would we have that you don’t?”

Fallout, supported by Warpspeed and Stardancer, staggered up to Blackhole’s side. The four of them shared glances before a smile crept across Fallout’s scarred faceplates. The tallest mech stared unflinchingly into the faces of the Autobot contingent, joined finally by the Aerialbots, and spoke for the first time since he awoke.

“A home.”


	2. A Secret and a Battle, and also a Secret Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we find Optimus has been hiding something, and the first battle since Protostar and her family arrived is getting underway.
> 
> What the other Autobots don't know is that several things that happen during this short span of time will change the direction of the war irrevocably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so, second chapter is up after how long? Jeez, but I've never been good at keeping deadlines, so I can tell you the next chapter will be up next Monday, but I might or might not be lying to you...
> 
> Watch out, major plot points are being sown here, and you'll see how they flower in the chapters to come...
> 
> EDIT 4/7/15: So, I just noticed that I somehow posted the wrong version of this chapter, but now it's fixed!

Optimus would say the time it took the new arrivals to settle into Autobot City was remarkably short, all things considered. Of course, there were bumps, no thanks to the minibots and their overt wariness of mechas they’d never met.

The group caught on to Earth customs very well, for having just arrived on the planet. Within a few hours, they were using earth phrases and slang with a gusto even Sideswipe and Jazz would have been hard-pressed to match.

The small group of Autobots that initially went to assess the situation eventually met the last of the newest mechs: Skyfall and Solarwind, Blackhole’s bondmates. Solarwind was just as eerily cheery as his sister, and Skyfall was a quiet Seeker who reminded Optimus a lot of Skyfire.

Fallout, Warpspeed, and Skyfall ended up needing to spend the first three days in Autobot City lying on berths in the medbay with Wheeljack for company, as he still didn’t have his arm completely fixed due to Ratchet’s abrupt need to be elsewhere in the middle of the operation. The arm was attached of course, but the medic kept the neural receptors shut down so the scientist didn’t try using it and ruining all his hard work, or something along those lines.

The inventor and Solarwind hit it off almost as soon as the Praxian stepped into the medbay to get his superficial wounds checked on. Ratchet still didn’t believe this was beneficial towards Metroplex’s walls and their continued upright positions, but he could do nothing more than monitor its progress closely. Once the ambulance had deemed Solarwind fit to live another day, he’d kicked the ‘bot from the bay to settle into the berthroom he was sharing with his bondmates.

The newcomers met their human allies within the first week. Spike and his six year old son were accompanied by Bumblebee— no surprise there, really— and Hot Rod, who had become attached to Daniel very quickly, though the boy was very young. Sparkplug wasn’t able to make it, but promised Optimus to stop by and meet them soon.

Bumblebee was absolutely over the moon to meet Supernova, asking her all kinds of questions about Carrierhood. After a long discussion, the colorful Seeker even allowed the minibot to listen to the faint Sparkpulses within her fuselage. It was under the watchful eye of Cliffjumper, Bumblebee’s bondmate, and Protostar that the little Bug placed his audials with utmost care upon the distended abdomen of the carrying femme and felt more than heard the tinny sounds of life.

Bumblebee was still very much treated as the favored child of the Autobots, even though he was not young by any means. Make no mistake, the minibot could kick some serious aft when it needed kicking, but the overall aura of innocence and cheer that surround the Volkswagen was something precious to be preserved. So, when the yellow ‘bot turned to the grumpy red Porsche with a smile that would have powered their solar converters for a _vorn_ , Cliffjumper’s sour expression melted into something soft and thoughtful.

Even Hot Rod, a cocky mech that was inclined to seem a bit arrogant, was awed by the carrying femme. Though, when she offered him the chance to feel the movements of the Sparklings, the mech blanched and backed away swiftly. The others laughed, but Supernova was insistent, grabbing the mech’s large silver servo and forcing it to the mound of her belly. Hot Rod’s optics were wide in his faceplates and only grew wider when one of the little ones kicked the wall of their chamber against his hand. He flinched and his optics flicked to hers as if to ask if that was meant to happen.

Supernova had smiled kindly at the young mech, and said, “Sometimes, the most awe-inspiring things are small and unassuming. All you have to do is learn to appreciate them.”

All Optimus could say about the expression that overcame Hot Rod’s handsome face was that it was the most gentle he’d seen the mech look since first meeting Daniel two years ago. His brother seemed to think so as well, for when Ultra Magnus came in looking for his wayward lover, he paused for several moments and just basked in the tender look the flamed mech wore unguardedly.

That was a little more than a month ago, and Protostar and her group had integrated well within the ranks. They weren’t truly Autobots, they wore no symbol, but they acted like Autobots. The minibots, though still wary and unsure, were beginning to relax around the Seekers and Praxians. Supernova had gotten larger, if that was at all possible, and Ratchet stated it was only a matter of time before the Sparklings separated from their carrier.

The medic made Supernova undergo an ultrasound almost as soon as he possibly could. He checked to make sure the young ones were healthy— after all the stress of two battles with the Decepticons nothing was too safe— and determined that the Seeker was to have three Sparklings: two Praxian body types and a Seeker frame, all of them mechs by the looks of it. The close up picture Ratchet took of their stubby wing nubs made even tough old Ironhide melt a little… and spout off about when ‘Bee was a Sparkling tottering under his and Chromia’s pedes.

Protostar couldn’t have looked prouder if she’d stuck her chassis out and strutted about the city like an earth peacock— which Supernova and Stardancer only just managed to keep from occurring.

Optimus went over this all in his processor as he traversed the rarely used roads to an out-of-the-way copse of tall trees to the north of the city. He reflected on how well Fallout and Warpspeed had taken to the Aerialbots, assuming the roles of mentors to the severely outclassed gestalt team. Warpspeed even asked for permission to use his warp-generator in battle situations to catch the team off guard and to raise their awareness of opponent positions. The Prime was only happy to agree if it meant his gestalt might survive another battle intact.

The semi was also quite proud of how his SIC handled their newest Praxian additions. Now that they had practically unlimited research material, Solarwind and Stardancer were chocked full of questions about Praxian tradition and the upbringing of those who were raised in Praxus. Smokescreen and Prowl did their utmost to accommodate and answer any questions the siblings had, even going so far as to assure Stardancer that Protostar’s behavior regarding Supernova and their Sparklings was entirely natural and expected. Of course, then Stardancer had a mild panic attack, wondering if there was a glitch in her processor; she’d never had much inclination towards violence whenever Supernova wandered around by herself, except when violence was necessary, like the attacks on the ship. She felt protective of her mate, but it was never as overwhelming to her as it seemed to be in Protostar.

Prowl was quick to reassure, explaining that as the more dominant of the two of them, Protostar felt more defensive of her mates and offspring. Once the Sparklings were born, he said, Protostar would settle a bit to help shoulder the joyous burden, and Stardancer would feel more of that aggressiveness surface as she took up the role of protector.

Ahead of the Prime, the road became overgrown with weeds and brush. The semi stopped, transformed, and walked the remaining distance to the small clearing hidden in the wood.

There was already someone waiting.

The dying light of the evening sun shone on the mech’s paintjob, showcasing long, powerful legs, a trim cherry red waist, and broad, shining silver wings.

The mech turned with a haughty toss of his helm at the Prime’s presence, “It took you long enough, Prime! I’ve been waiting here for _hours_! Mega-aft is probably suspicious at my disappearance!”

“Starscream,” Optimus rumbled, “I apologize for my tardiness, but we recently received new arrivals and I’ve been seeing to their settlement in the city.” The leader of the Autobots stepped closer to the second in command of the Decepticons; close enough to make Starscream crane his neck cables to peer up into Optimus’ face.

“Oh? And what’s so damn special about a few new Autobot arrivals that you have to delay our meeting? Can’t Prowl and his mate deal with them without your constant supervision, or are they more incompetent than I’ve given them credit for?” the jet snarked, optics narrowed and full of an odd sort of light. Optimus chuckled when he placed the gleam and Starscream’s optics became mere slits of ruby. “You laugh! You dare to laugh at me?!” the mech shrieked.

“You are jealous.”

Starscream gaped, spluttering unattractively, “I—I have no clue what you’re talking about! I’m not jealous.” The F-15 crossed his arms self-consciously and took a step back. Optimus caught the smaller ‘bot’s bicep gently and reeled him back in.

“It’s not a bad thing, Starscream. And it doesn’t matter anyway, they aren’t Autobots.”

Starscream sneered, “Oh, so you’ve managed to find yourselves some wayward Decepticons who swear they’ve ‘seen the light’? I’ve obviously put too much faith in your intelligence if you’re allowing them to roam the city freely.”

The Prime chuckled again, “I never said they were Decepticon, either.”

“Okay, now you’re just being purposefully vague. Don’t patronize me, Prime; I have no patience for it.”

Optimus pulled the jet even closer, until he and Starscream were nearly pressed chassis to cockpit. The semi stroked softly down the F-15’s forearms, catching a royal blue servo in his own navy one. Starscream gave their entwined servos an unimpressed look, “If you’re trying to be subtle Prime, it’s not working.”

“Optimus. You know I hate it when you call me Prime. And I’m not trying to be subtle at all.” Optimus tugged the servo and Starscream finally pressed entirely to the taller mech’s chassis with a put upon outtake.

“You are insatiable, _Optimus_ , I swear it. Are you going to tell me about your new little friends, or are you going to continue in this fashion for the rest of the night? If it’s the latter, I’m not going to feel so inclined towards conversation very soon.”

With one last bout of low laughter, Optimus sat and pulled the Decepticon SIC down with him, “You say I am insatiable, and yet _you_ were the one that ensured I didn’t get back to the city until the early hours of the morning the last time we met. Prowl gave me odd looks for _days_. As for my ‘new little friends’ as you so eloquently named them, they are factionless. In fact, they’ve been absent for practically all of the war.”

Starscream shot the semi a bemused look, “Absent in what way? How did they manage to stay out of the fighting, and can they tell me their secret?”

“‘On another planet’ kind of absent… They apparently felt the tension building and left Cybertron long before war ever became a real possibility.”

 “Cowards then,” Starscream sneered, “You do know how to pick them, don’t you?”

Optimus shrugged, “I do not believe they were being cowardly. Seekers tend to be a bit over-protective towards their young, no?” Here, the Prime shot a side-long glance at his companion. He was rewarded with a most unbecoming gape overcoming the Seeker’s faceplates.

“They’re _Seekers_?!”

“Mmhm,” Optimus consented, “And Praxians… _Young_ Praxians... There are only two left of the original crew. The four original Praxians were killed long ago in a cave-in on the planet they hid out on, and four of the six Seekers were shot down by Shockwave when they attempted to return to Cybertron roughly a vorn or so ago. There are five Seekers: four mechs and a femme; and three Praxians: two femmes and a mech. The two older Seekers are a bonded pair, the younger three mechs are bonded, and the three femmes are bonded and expecting. Evidently, they have been informed they are having all mechs: two Praxian frames, and a Seeker.”

Starscream was full on staring at this point, and Optimus relished this moment of speechlessness, for it didn’t occur nearly often enough. It didn’t last long though, and suddenly Starscream’s frame was taken by outraged tension.

“That bastard! How dare he shoot Seekers! If Megatron didn’t already take up the first five slots of my ‘needs to die’ list on his own, Shockwave would have been moved up to ‘first to murder’ after that!” Starscream gnashed his dentas together, creating an irritating grating noise. Optimus cringed and grasped the jet’s lower jaw between his fingers to stop it.

“Calm yourself Starscream. Do not ruin this meeting with your anger. They will be dealt with in time, and all their crimes will weigh them heavily when they go to meet Primus, of that I can assure you.”

The F-15 gave the semi a baleful glare and Optimus released the jet’s face apologetically. Starscream frowned, the handling hadn’t been rough, not in the slightest, but he suddenly felt mischievous, pouting theatrically and playing it up, “Now, that hurt, _Optimus_ …” the mech purred, wings fluttering. “You should make it up to me.”

One of the semi’s optic ridges went up, “Oh really? And how should I repay you for my grievance?”

“ _Kiss me_ …” Starscream breathed, dimming his optics and gazing up at the bigger mech coyly. The jetformer threw one long, _long_ leg over the breadth of the semi’s thighs, fingers tracing silver vents and tapping reinforced plexiglass windshields teasingly.  Optimus’ lipplates quirked for a moment at the behavior, but he was willing; he hadn’t seen his lover in several months and they had a limited amount of time.

His battle mask slid away and with a muttered, “Gladly”, Optimus leant in and seized the jet’s dark lips in a harsh kiss. His glossa only briefly lingered between them before delving inside that tempting cavern and taking what he wished. Starscream was most helpful, opening his mouth wider and twining his own glossa around the Prime’s seductively.

Their kiss continued in that manner for several long kliks, but soon they needed air to cool their overheating frames and they broke apart unwillingly.

“Was that a sufficient apology?” Optimus asked after several moments’ silence between them.

Starscream heaved a heavy intake, “It will have to do for now. But I expect a better one before long.”

“As you wish,” Optimus acquiesced obligingly. “I live to serve.”

There was a pause and the Seeker’s optics dropped to Optimus’ chassis where the Matrix of Leadership remained hidden, “…I know you do.” Starscream uttered quietly, pulling his ruby gaze away from his lover altogether, refusing to meet Optimus’ own.

The Prime frowned at the drop in mood, but had no way to counteract it without putting Starscream in a snit, so he stayed silent and allowed his taciturn lover to brood. It was a positive sign that Starscream didn’t try to remove himself from Optimus’ lap.

Several minutes of loaded silence passed, and then, “Megatron is planning to try to take the aircraft your newcomers came in.”

Optimus looked into Starscream’s face, “You already knew someone had arrived.” It was not a question.

“Yes, but I truly didn’t know there were Seekers among them. Soundwave only just discovered the whereabouts of the ship a few days ago. It wasn’t an Autobot vessel, nor a Decepticon warship, so we assumed. He plans to move within the next week.” Starscream refused to look the Prime in the optics.

Optimus’ navy servo came up and gently led Starscream’s optics to his, tipping his chin back tenderly, “Thank you, as always. You are more help than words can describe.”

Starscream frowned, snorting, “Hmph, it just wouldn’t do for you to die. Then who would I have to play with?”

Optimus chuckled and freed Starscream, mood sufficiently lifted, “Still, I thank you.”

The rest of their meeting was spent discussing everything and nothing, skirting the topic of their respective factions and the war, and eventually, after several more heated, passionate kisses—and possibly more unspeakable things—they parted and went back to their bases of operation to prepare for the upcoming battle.

Optimus, though weighed down by the thoughts of strategy and planning, felt lighter than he had in months.  
 --------------------

The Decepticon Alert klaxon rang out through the halls of Metroplex, and mechas everywhere dropped what they were doing and rushed to the entrance of the city where Optimus Prime was already waiting.

“Megatron and his Decepticons have discovered the crash site,” He addressed his loyal Autobots, standing tall above all but Fallout who stood silent in the back beside his bondmate. “It was only a matter of time, but we must keep the ship from falling into their hands. There is enough fuel onboard that should they take the ship and repair it, it is entirely likely that they’ll be able to pilot the _Discovery_ back to Cybertron and the war would be lost.”

Heavy blue optics settled on the small crowd of newcomers in the back, “As the leader of this contingent, I do feel it necessary to ask if you would join us, but seeing as how you are unaffiliated guests, you do not have to. I just ask that you stay out of our way.”

Fallout nodded in assent, arms crossed over his cockpit neutrally, “All I have to say is we‘ll catch up if and when we’ve reached a definite verdict. We _do_ have a carrier among us, and Protostar and Stardancer are loath to leave her when the possibility of an attack is likely.” At this the dark Seeker smirked, “That said, both are adrenaline junkies no thanks to my bondmate and are likely to be torn between protecting their mate and Sparklings and joining what will no doubt be a fight to remember. In the end, the decision is entirely up to whether Supernova wants them with her or not.” Fallout shrugged, “Trust me, you’ll know the decision when it happens.”

Prime dipped his head acquiescingly, “I understand. Though, I do request you to not take _too_ long and to comm with your choice beforehand.”

“I’ll do my best.” Fallout granted. “There’s always the chance I won’t be any more informed than you will be.”

“Fair enough… Autobots! Transform and roll out!” After that, there was only the sound of engines rumbling and tires squealing as the small battalion raced from the orange monstrosity they called home.

Protostar and her Praxian bondmate watched after the army with longing looks, but held off from following. Blackhole noticed the expressions of dashed hope and chuckled, “Come on. Let’s go talk to my sister. I’m sure Warpspeed can watch her for a few groons without her having a panic attack.”  
\--------------------

The battle was just about to get underway. Both sides were lined up, sneering angrily at each other, visions of pain filling hateful optics like promises. Optimus and Megatron were squaring off in the midst of their subordinates like they were wont to do.

The sound of a snarling engine registered over the jeers and insults and several Autobots and Decepticons turned to look up at the ridge as a sleek Datsun with a custom black and silver paint job came flying over the hill like a cyber-bat out of the Pit. It swerved through the Autobots recklessly, transforming halfway through into a pretty Praxian femme with a hateful grimace stretched across her faceplates.

She took a good long look around the two opposing sides, who were all staring dumbstruck, before peering up at Optimus balefully, “ _This_ is one of your battles?” She spat. “This looks more like a bunch of jackasses standing in circle.” She stated, frowning.

Megatron’s customary scowl darkened further, “Impudent femme! Who do you think you are? I’ll tear you limb from limb for your insolence!” the giant mech growled.

Stardancer turned her nasty frown to the warlord, unsubspacing a pair of wickedly curved swords, “I’m Stardancer, and your stupid war stole my creators from me! So I’m going to avenge them, and if I have to take it out of your Megaton-aft, so be it!” With a truly evil snarl, so different from the affable femme’s normal expressions, she turned to the Autobots’ leader, “Well, are you just gonna stand there, or are you going to help me?” She didn’t wait for a reply, charging into the Decepticons with her swords drawn. The Autobots cheered raucously, pounding after her with various war cries and weapons’ discharge.

She pulled off a tricky, flashy move with the two weapons, flipping into the other army with skill and finesse. The Decepticons were slow to respond, resulting in several being put out of commission easily, but the stall was not to last.

One tried to tackle the slight femme from behind and got a bullet through the shoulder for his efforts. The few Autobots who could spare the moment of distraction turned to see Protostar standing tall on the ridge, gun out and smoking, golden optics steely, “Did someone call for the cavalry?”

Two jets screamed over her head, streaking low over the mass of fighting ‘bots, buffeting many with the slipstream. On the back of Skyfall was Solarwind, whooping in delight and clutching the tailfin of the largest Seeker without fear.

“ _SEEKERS?!_ ” Starscream shrieked incredulously, staring open-mouthed at the dark fliers who’d suddenly appeared (Optimus thought privately to himself that the mech was an incredibly gifted actor, among other things). Megatron smacked his second over the head—Optimus felt a clench in his Spark at the abuse laid upon the tricolored Seeker—and pointed up at the jets who were now performing rolls and coming back with their guns locked and loaded.

“What are you doing, you incompetent fool?! Destroy them!!”

Starscream shot a vitriolic glare at his leader, launching himself into his transformation and after the newcomers, his trine and the Coneheads following swiftly. The three Aerialbots that had come to the battle— Silverbolt, Skydive, and Slingshot— shot off after them, transforming in midair.

When he spotted the SIC of the Decepticons heading their way, Solarwind patted his bondmate on the cockpit gently, “Good luck, babe! Always rootin’ for ya,” and back-flipped off the large Seeker with a shout of delight.

Prowl’s Spark just about failed him as the mech free-fell about 80 feet and crashed pede-first into Hook, effectively keeping Devastator from being used. The Praxian un-subspaced a terrifying Energon-powered morning star that dragged heavily on the ground, leaving furrows in the soft sand. He flung it up, spun it once, twice, and then smashed it into the faceplates of another unfortunate Constructicon—probably Bonecrusher.

From across the battlefield Sideswipe hollered out praise to the Praxian as he held Motormaster in a head lock.

Solarwind was off like a shot, ripping through the fighting mechas like a Frontliner who’d been held back for vorns. He twisted this way and that, beating all those in his way to a crunchy pulp with the weapon clenched in his hand. He eventually made it to his sister’s side and while the two became a force to be reckoned with, it was when Protostar joined them that they really showed how deadly they could be.

With what seemed to be enhanced strength, Solarwind physically tossed his twin and her bondmate at their enemies like extra dangerous javelins. At one point, he locked arms with Stardancer and lifted her off her feet to allow her to kick an assailant squarely in the chassis, knocking him flat on his aft ten yards back.

Protostar heard the chop of helicopter blades, looking up to see Blitzwing on his way over to deliver a round of armor piercing bullets.

“Solarwind!” she shouted, eyes stuck on the approaching triplechanger.

“On it!” He grunted, finishing off his opponent. He spun and grabbed her by the chest and waist armor, then heaved her relatively light body towards Blitzwing with a slight protest from the hydraulics in his arm and shoulder.

She shot through the air like an arrow, catching hold of the helicopter’s landing rails. The triplechanger transformed, gabbing hold of the femme with a lecherous grin, “Well well well, what do we have here? A pretty femme, come to see me? Don’t worry; I won’t hurt you,” Blitzwing tighten his hold on the squirming femme, “Much.”

“That’s nice to know.” Protostar growled, wriggling her arm into the right position. “It’s good you told me that. Now, be a good mech and tell me if this hurts!” She shot the triplechanger through the thigh with her rifle, inciting a howl of agony. “Oh good, I was worried it wouldn’t! How about this one?” She fired a round through Blitzwing’s side. The scream of pain was music to her audials. “I’m sorry, was that painful? I didn’t feel a thing!” The triplechanger was hovering, but just barely. The white femme used this to her advantage, gripping his shuddering shoulders and wrestling the bigger mecha into a dive, shooting out his thrusters just before letting go and landing in a crouch near Prowl. Blitzwing was not so fortunate, crashing headlong into the dirt, offlined from the collision.

The femme straightened gracefully, joining the native Praxian in his fight against the rest of the Constructicons. They fought back to back for several minutes, clearing out a small section of the field for themselves and a few others.

Protostar fired steadily into the crowd of Decepticons moving in on her, taking them out easily and allowing them to be dragged off the battlefield by their uninjured comrades. Looking up, she observed the dogfight going on between her bonded’s trinemates, the Aerialbots, and the two Decepticon Seeker trines. Silverbolt, Skydive, and Slingshot seemed to be holding their own against the blue and purple F-15s, even with the purple one warping all over the place trying to get the Concord to gain altitude. That caught Protostar’s attention quickly. Frame modifications like warp-generators were rarities amongst Seekers and tended to be passed down through familial lines… she would have to investigate that later.

But Skyfall, even as the one of the bigger Seekers, was having problems with the Conehead trine a little ways away. With Blackhole too busy evading Starscream— who was by far the best flier any of them had ever seen— he couldn’t come to his bonded’s aid for very long. The Wing Commander had both overall size and top speed on the F-20, but Blackhole had a tight turn radius and maneuverability at close range.

Beside Protostar, Prowl frowned when the femme let out a curse of frustration and started backing up towards the edge of the little clearing they’d emptied out. The other Praxian felt an optic ridge going up in question, “What are you doing, Protostar?”

The blue and white femme winced, “Something I haven’t done in way too many vorns…” and to Prowl’s—and everyone else who was taking a bit of a breather in the small spot of calm—surprise, she drew in a huge intake and shouted, “BLACKHOLE!” as loud as she could.

The black F-20 Tigershark shot a strafing round at Starscream’s back, inciting an outraged screech from the red and blue Seeker, and wheeled around, tearing through the air towards the femme Praxian.

The femme backed up more, turning around and starting to run as the jet neared, its turbines thunder in the sky.

Then, in an extremely impressive display of both courage and agility, she jumped and twisted, catching the jet’s wings in between her light blue servos and swinging herself up and onto the back of the F-20 with little difficulty, despite the fact they were going several hundred miles an hour.

She steadied herself and helped the plane steer with her added weight towards the four fighting jets streaking across the thickest expanse of the battle. As they closed in, Protostar lowered into a running position and leapt forward against the wind, running along the length of Blackhole, throwing herself from his nosecone and onto the back of none other than Ramjet. Blackhole sent a few grazing shots across Thrust’s left wing and hairpin-turned to go back to a cursing Starscream.

Underneath the femme, the F-35 Lightning bucked, trying to dislodge the Praxian, but she clenched her servos around the edges of the white jet’s two tailfins and hurled her weight to the right, causing the plane to roll away from the more manageable dogfight between Skyfall and the other two.

Protostar wrestled with the Seeker in the air for several kliks, holding on to the tailfins gamely despite the jet’s erratic swerving and rearing. It was only when Dirge was shot with a blast of cannon fire from somewhere amidst the fighting Cybertronians that the movements froze momentarily before starting up again with desperate fervor. As the red jet quickly spiraled out of control the white jet the Praxian jockeyed emitted a distressed wail from his cockpit. Protostar knew that sound, having heard it from one of her own Seekers more times than she liked: the sound of a terrified bondmate.

The blue and white femme stomped down on Ramjet’s back and pulled on his tailfins, getting his attention and urging him into a dive. She couldn’t jump off at this height, so what better than to ride with him to the ground? She tugged, and pushed, and steered the Seeker until he was underneath his freefalling mate. She noticed as Skyfall and Thrust appeared on either side of Ramjet, unable to do much more than watch.

“TRANSFORM!” She screamed over the wind rushing passed her audials, “DIRGE, YOU HAVE TO TRANSFORM OR RAMJET CAN’T CATCH YOU!”

There was an answering click, and suddenly Dirge’s transformation sequence activated. There was more grinding than Protostar would’ve liked, obviously painful if the Lightning’s petrified grimace was anything to go by, but he managed. She pulled up on Ramjet, easing him under the injured Seeker gently, but as fast as she could. The ground was getting closer and closer, bringing with it what would no doubt end in their deactivation.

Finally though, she let go and caught the Seeker, lowering him to Ramjet’s back and securing him with wire from her grapple, clamping down on Ramjet’s tailfins once more and yanking back frantically. Ramjet soared upwards unsteadily, then evened out and began losing altitude at a steadier pace.

Touchdown was rough, engendering more than one helpless groan or whimper from Dirge, but once they were stopped, Protostar slid from Ramjet and, with the help of the newly transformed Skyfall and Thrust, pulled Dirge from his perch and down to the ground, trying not to irritate his wounds any more than necessary. Ramjet transformed and hurried to Thrust.

“Skyfall—” Protostar started.

“I’m on it.” The dark blue and white Seeker dropped to his knees, unsubspacing his large medikit. Thrust stepped forward with a snarl, but Skyfall didn’t even look up from his work, “I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to hurt him, just patch him up as much as possible. Nothing is life-threatening yet, but it may become that way very fast.” The big mech pulled out a temporary metal plate and a welder, lowering a special visor over his optics and leaning forward to close up the hole in Dirge’s red and black leg that cut off the neural receptors from his thrusters.

When the sound of voices came closer to their location, Protostar whirled around, guns drawn.

“Don’t come any closer!” she yelled at the approaching Autobots. Jazz and Prowl pulled up short.

“Femme, what’re ya doin’? Those’re _Cons_!” Jazz was incredulous. Didn’t the bot know the difference?

Protostar frowned. She knew these mechas were waging war with each other but she wasn’t one to kick somebody while they were down, so even though she understood she kept her gun raised, “I know who they are, but it’s _what_ they are that matters. I don’t stand by and watch as a mech goes down in flames while his bondmates watch helplessly.”

Prowl shared a glance with his own partner, knowing the terrifying feeling more intimately than he liked, “That shouldn’t matter—”

“It always _matters_!” Protostar cut him off, slashing her free servo through the air. “It _always_ matters! I don’t care if this is _war_! It wouldn’t matter if _you_ see the end of the battle, if your bonded _didn’t_! Wars are won by people who believe in what they’re fighting for, not by desolate creatures lost in a familiar world made foreign by the loss of their other half! I won’t stand by and _watch_ as _three_ lives are ended with _one_ death.” The white femme steadied her gun, “I don’t _want_ to fight you, but I will if it means I’ve saved the lives of those who still believe in love and hope.”

Had Protostar turned around to look, she would have seen stunned expressions upon the faces of the Seekers she was defending. No one had ever stood up for them like this, especially not against their own friends. Sure, Starscream and his trine had their backs in battle, and generally took the fall with for them where Megatron was concerned, but this femme didn’t even _know_ them and here she was keeping the Autobot SIC and TIC from offlining them where they stood.

On the ground, Dirge groaned in pain. Thrust hurried over to sooth his servos down the injured mech’s wings, calming his disoriented bondmate as Skyfall continued to repair what he could.

Protostar leveled a hard stare at the two commanders, “Look at that!” She gestured with her arm at the battle half a mile away, still going on even without them there, “Do you see it? Do you see the carnage and death and destruction this is causing? Is it not better to help where you can? Is it not better to prevent any death possible to prevent?” Golden optics shone with determination, “We are a _dying race_. If we let this war destroy us, there won’t be anybody _left_! Forget rebuilding Cybertron, we won’t be able to rebuild _ourselves_!” Protostar seemed to deflate a little, “Prowl, I know I look Praxian, but I wasn’t raised that way. I was raised by mechs and femmes from Vos; people who were oppressed long before this war broke out. I was taught the Seeker language while not being a Seeker. Do you know how taboo that is to Vosnians? To teach the sacred language to someone not of their race is punishable by the deactivation of both the teacher and the student. Do you know the reason they made that rule? Because the Senate and Sentinel Prime tried to control them with the knowledge and turn Vosnians into nothing more than flying war drones. But my adoptive creators taught us anyway because we are their Sparklings, despite being entirely unrelated.

“At one point, Megatron was the only voice Vos was allowed to have. He had radical ideas; ideas to tear down the Senate and start all over. I know now he’s gone off the deep end, but at one point he was the hope of all the outcasts: Vos, Kaon… Sentinel is gone now, and Optimus is already a better Prime, but he cannot prove to the doubtful Cybertronians that he is more than capable of fixing the caste system and implanting a better government without first showing compassion and mercy.

“The only way I know to expedite the process is to help those who I can, even if they’re technically my enemies. I show by example that there are those out there, those who were considered the ‘higher’ classes, who think the caste is wrong. If that means I need to save a Decepticon from offlining in a crash, then by Pit that’s what I’m going to do!”

She whirled around, stalking to the Seekers’ sides, clicking to Ramjet comfortingly. The Conehead startled at the language coming from a foreign source. He’d heard her say she’d been taught the secret dialect, but a part of him hadn’t believed without proof. Now that he had it he considered the mysterious femme warily and warbled back hesitantly. Not only did Protostar understand, but she encouraged the conversation.

 **~Are you well? ~** She questioned formally, as was custom when speaking for the first time.

Ramjet disregarded all formality in the face of the native tongue of his people, preferring to speak frankly **~I will be once Dirge is healed… Thank you, for standing up to your faction for us. There are few in my own that would do the same. ~** Megatron didn’t particularly like when his Seekers spoke in their language, paranoid as he was he tended to think they were plotting something behind his back.

Sadness filled the femme’s gold optics **~It is a fact of war that there are those who are only in it for themselves. I am truly sorry that your bondmate was injured, but he will recover. ~** Here Protostar faltered, glancing distractedly over her shoulder both at the still-there commanders and towards the battlefield. **~I know this is not my place, being neither a Seeker nor an Autobot, but~** the femme reached into subspace and pulled out a datachip **~this is to my personal frequency. I will be frank and say that I don’t trust you, not yet. My frequency is not traceable or hackable, but I want you to have this. From what I’ve seen of Megatron, he’s not a very forgiving mech and I’m afraid that this meeting will get around faster than we plan. ~** Protostar focused an intense imploring stare upon the leader of the Coneheads **~If anything—and I mean _anything_ —happens; if Megatron hurts you or your trine or someone unsavory goes after you, I want you to comm me and I will do my utmost to retrieve you and grant you safe haven. I am so sorry, but I fear my assistance will bring you harm. If you must tell your wing commander that I have given this to you, I understand. Just promise that you will use it if it becomes necessary. The same goes for Starscream and his trine, and anyone else you think will need it. I am not a soldier. I haven’t been at war for as long as you have, but there is a feeling in my tanks that something is about to give soon and I don’t think it will be the Autobots. I can sense that although you fight for the Decepticons, you are not bad at Spark, and neither are your mates. I want to save as many Sparks as I can before that time comes. Can you promise me this? ~**

The Vosnian hesitated once more **~I—I will try. I can’t promise such things without speaking to my trine at length, but if the situation at base turns dire for us, or anyone else, I will try. ~**

The femme smirked **~I’m not a true Vosnian, but I might as well be. Seekers stick together, no? ~** She held her arm out, waiting. The Seeker paused, and then did the same, cupping her forearm in his larger servo in a Seeker gesture meaning friendship.

**~Yeah… Seekers stick together… ~**

If only he’d known how true that would turn out to be in the days to come…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you're reading this, go check out the mini-series I'm writing based off this! It's all the backstories of the pairings that will eventually show up in this story.
> 
> Hope to see you next time!


	3. I Dare You To Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Welcome to the planet,_  
>  Welcome to Existence,  
> Everyone's here,  
> Everyone's here...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter will showcase my first attempt at Transformer!Science. I tried really hard to make it seem plausible, and at the same time try not to make my OCs seem _way_ over-powered. I took into account that the group of them were on a distant moon/planetoid mining complex with no other viable resources to make upgraded frames for Protostar, Stardancer, and Solarwind because they weren't exactly planned, and therefore not factored into the bringing of frame supplies...
> 
> If you'd like to see my notes on any of the subjects that I make up, just send me a comment and I'll definitely try to find somewhere to put them so that you can browse. I might possibly make a final index chapter or something and update it as new information is presented...

Protostar, Skyfall, and the SIC and TIC made themselves scarce when they were warned that Skywarp and Thundercracker were coming in low to check on their missing Seekers. They rejoined the fighting seamlessly, effortlessly picking up where they’d left off, the secret meeting pushed to the backs of their processors. Protostar knew without a doubt that Prowl would report the fraternization to Optimus, but she trusted that the mech was fair, and would review all data before even thinking they were a threat to anyone.

The battle continued for a while longer, ending only when Megatron got his aft once again kicked by Optimus. The Decepticons fled to lick their wounds, and the Autobots returned to Metroplex to tend to their injured and ‘start planning a victory party’ Jazz happily exclaimed for all to hear after soundly kissing his bondmate in front of everyone. It took several minutes for Prowl to compose his flustered visage and settle his ruffled armor; Jazz counted it a job well-done.

Protostar noticed distantly that the Prime didn’t join his men in their celebration, as he was staring distractedly off after the retreating Decepticon army, but she put this at the back of her processor in favor of more important things, like worrying whether she’d made the right decision in practically handing over her exact location to the ‘enemy’.

This thought process plagued her processor for several days, but eventually she settled herself with ‘I got myself into this mess, I’ll sure as slag take care of it’ and was done with the entire thing.

It was on this very day that she and Fallout were sitting at a table in the rec room, enjoying a mid-grade after a long day posing as sparing partners to anyone who wanted to take a shot at them. As a whole, the white femme and her family didn’t believe in draining resources without doing something to make up for it, and if being glorified spar-drones was that thing, then they’d do it. Warpspeed and Fallout also had their agreement with Prime about training the Aerialbots, so there was that, and when Blackhole and Skyfall weren’t participating in experiments with Perceptor and Wheeljack (usually with Solarwind tagging along to play guinea pig with the less dangerous inventions) they were helping Protostar and Stardancer with mock melee in the training room.

On this particular day, whilst Protostar and her adoptive creator were sipping their energon, Prowl and Jazz suddenly appeared to claim the last two seats at the table as their own and sat down with them. The black and green Seeker shared a look with his femmeling before both turned and faced the mechs, one whom held a smile across his faceplates and the other who kept his wiped clean of all expression, save mild interest.

“So, mah mechas, we were just’ wonderin’ how it came to be that y’all fight so well. We saw yer mission report on Teletraan, ‘fore ya crashed. Said y’all were mainly scientists, wit’ only a couple of ya wit’ any fightin’ experience. No pressure, we ain’t gonna incite tha Spanish Inquisition if ya don’ answer, but, y’know, thought we were friends an’ ya can trust us. Swear it, by mah spark.”

Protostar quirked an optic ridge at the short speech, pausing to ping the reference she didn’t understand through the internet. She cycled her optics at the result, and then mentally shook her helm. Really, humans confused her, especially the ancient ones.

She chuckled none the less, shrugging at Prowl’s only vaguely bemused glance, “If you’re expecting some kind of heroic or spark-wrenching tale about having no choice but to learn or the results some vicious attack, you’re mistaken. Honestly, we only learned because our creators are paranoid sons of glitches. That, and there’s really not much to do on a barren, abandoned base besides wrestle with each other and learn the trades of our caretakers.”

Fallout cuffed the femme about the helm for the unnecessary language, “She’s right, unfortunately. The whole story is that while we were still on Cybertron Skyfall’s creator and I were Enforcers in Vos while Warpspeed and the others were enrolled in the Academy of Science. When the war started to loom, Freefall and I quit the force, and the others used their positions as top Researchers and Technologists in the Science Academy to request the mission-statement, and we left Cybertron with the Praxians, who worked in an off-branch of the Praxus Enforcers, training specialized bodyguards-for-hire. When they died, the Praxians I mean, we came to the unanimous decision to train everyone to fight. We couldn’t predict the future; we could be discovered on this desolate little world, no matter how much we believed it was well out of the spotlight. So, while the sparklings were still young, Freefall and I taught our trines how to fight properly, and then later we all taught the children.” Fallout shifted in his seat, uncomfortable under the intense stares of the Autobots before him, “No thanks to Warpspeed’s daredevil tendencies, Protostar, Stardancer, and Solarwind all came to love fighting because it was the only way for them to feel the adrenaline rush my Sparkling of a mate describes after he cuts his thrusters out at ten-thousand feet and free-falls. Blackhole and I view battle on a very neutral level. We see it as a means to an end, and we’re not afraid to throw our weight around if it gets the job done. My mate, Skyfall, and Supernova, on the other servo, absolutely abhor anything related to warfare. They will fight, but not unless they absolutely must. If any one of us is in danger, they’ll become fiercer than a seasoned Frontliner to protect us, but they do not enjoy it.”

“How is it that Solarflare came by his remarkable strength?” Prowl questioned, leaning closer.

Jazz nudged his partner gently, but firmly, shooting the tactician a _look_ through his visor. Prowl remained aloof and regarded Fallout and Protostar patiently.

_::Not the Spanish Inquisition, huh?::_ Protostar shot through a private comm. to Fallout before leaning closer to the other mechs, “Look. The first thing you need to know is that Solarwind _asked_ for those enhancements.

“Stardancer and I, for various reasons that are our own, designed upgrades for our adult frames so they would do exactly what we were doing on the battlefield three days ago. Because I don’t want anything to come back to bite me in the aft later, I’m going to indulge you.” The white femme settled a very serious, very severe visage upon her faceplates, one that unsettled even the unflappable Prowl and Jazz.

“This cannot go passed this table; these are _our_ secrets to share… our _weaknesses_ that I am freely handing to you. Should anything—and I mean _anything_ —leak out to someone or something dangerous that will put my mate and brother in harm’s way, I will hold you personally responsible.

“We are not fliers, Solarwind, Stardancer, and I, and we will never _be_ fliers. So we improvised. On the planet we hid out on, there was an old mining complex of unknown origin. We assume it was Cybertronian at one point, but we were never sure. The mine was long abandoned, but still somewhat functional, and they were mining something incredible.

“Our armor is made of that same material, mine and Stardancer’s and Solarwind’s.  Mostly due to the fact that any Cybertronian material that was brought along was used for Skyfall, Blackhole, and Supernova’s adult frames, as they were older and came into adulthood before us, therefore taking precedence.

“The alloy was the stuff of scientific dreams: humans call it Graphene. They discovered it not long ago, but can only harvest it in infinitesimal quantities: 25 micrometers or less. We found it in much larger portions, obviously. Let me put it in perspective; it would take the weight of an elephant on the head of a pencil to puncture 100 micrometers of the material—roughly the same thickness as human plastic wrap. A millimeter would take a ten times that; a centimeter a hundred times _that_ … our armor is, in most places, twenty centimeters thick or more, meaning it would take the weight of two thousand elephants on the head of a .9 millimeter pencil tip to punch through to the inner workings of our frames. This is the equivalent of about 300 metric tonnes of force. Over the area of a square meter of our armor, we can hold… well, a lot… much more than it would take to crush a normal Cybertronian.

“Also, Graphene is _extremely_ conductive to all types of electricity, making most Energon based firearms—null rays and the like—useless, as the material siphons the energy from the point of impact, through a series of wires under our outer derma layer, and to the ground, or to back up generators should we be lacking energy for whatever reason.”

The two officers sat in stunned silence as they computed that large bit of information. Prowl valiantly tried to stave off a processor crash, thinking logically there must be a weakness and that he wasn’t staring into the faceplates of indestructible mechas. He was quick to voice this opinion, hoping Protostar would reveal said downside and save him the trouble of a hard reboot.

“If you’d give me a klik, I was getting to that. As I was saying, lots of weight. Skyfall and Supernova did all the calculations at one point, but I’m hard-pressed to remember the details. Anyway, problem one: graphene, once it reaches a certain thickness, becomes cumbersome to flex, meaning we can only cover certain parts of our frames with it, like any other type of armor. Anything we have to bend, twist, or move we have to leave open; joints mainly. Basically, we’re still vulnerable in between our armor plates, just like any other ‘bot out there.

“Problem two: graphene is not compatible with Spark energy*, which means that if someone rips off our chest plating they can shoot out our Sparks just as easily as anyone else because we couldn’t shield our Spark-chambers with it. Trust me, I tried and it hurt like you wouldn’t believe.

“Last and most prevalent problem: our armor is anchored onto our frames a different way than a Cybertronian’s is, so it is very possible to rip off the plates barehanded. Much more easily than it would be to rip off normal Cybertronian armor due to the fact that we can’t weld graphene to our bodies in the normal way. I won’t go into specifics.

“As for your original question, Solarwind asked Warpspeed, Skyfall, and Blackhole to enhance his physical strength; much like the Autobot Brawn. Graphene is several thousand times lighter than paper. A square meter of the normal one hundred micrometer thickness weighs less than a cat’s whisker. Our armor, though thick, only accounts for 10 percent of our total mass. Usually, armor makes up fifty percent or more. So, hands down, we’re among the lightest members within the city right now, including the minibots. Our inner systems—usually half or less of someone’s weight—makes up ninety percent of our total body weight. Assuming that a normal Praxian femme weighs two thousand pounds; I weigh only one thousand one hundred. Solarwind weighs slightly more, because not only is he physically larger than Star and I, but to enhance his strength, we had to add a few extra strands of muscle cables.

“That’s why he was able to toss us around so easily: we practically weigh nothing to him. Yes he’d still be able to pick up a much heavier mech just as easily, but throwing them as far as he throws us would be very difficult and strenuous.”

Jazz leant his elbow on the table, “Why aren’t yer Seekers outfitted with this stuff? Surely they’d be able ta go ‘lot faster with it instead o’ normal armor, an’ be bettah protected!”

Protostar shrugged, “Possibly, but, like I said, the way our armor is grafted to us is very easy to rip off. The connections wouldn’t be able to handle the G-force Seekers need to achieve to stay airborne. When we hitch rides, we have to lock our armor down to our frames, and we can only go up with them for a certain amount of time before the strain becomes too much. The faster they go, the less the allotted time becomes. Alongside that, after we’ve gone up, we have to get our armor checked and tightened—and yes, before you ask, Warpspeed and Blackhole did that for us two days ago. They may not be medics, but they already know how our bodies work, so why retrain someone else to do a job they’ve been doing for vorns? No offense to your medics, but I trust my family more than I trust them.”

It was Prowl and Jazz’s turn to share loaded glances as they spoke secretly over their Sparkbond. The end of the silent conversation came by way of Jazz’s unconcerned shrug and a quiet huff from Prowl. Fallout and Protostar were curious, but didn’t ask after what they’d discussed.

The smaller black-and-white turned back to them with a friendly grin set under his glowing visor, “So, ya excited fer tha li’l party Ah’m throwin’?”

The white femme was momentarily thrown by the abrupt non-sequitur into another conversation. She was about to reply, when two things happened simultaneously. Her HUD flashed an urgent message from Stardancer and Warpspeed suddenly came flying—not literally thankfully— around the corner with an excited look on his faceplates. Protostar was out of her seat before the larger mecha could reach her, nearly knocking over the table in her haste to vacate the room. Fallout lunged for the energon cubes, steadying the table as his adopted daughter tore from the room like Unicron himself was snapping at her heels.

Warpspeed didn’t try to stop her as she passed him, and all the others in the room stared with wide optics as the Seeker ground to a halt in front of his dumbfounded mate. The purple mech drew in deep intakes for a moment, fans whirling loudly in the tense silence of the room as they worked to cool his frame from the obvious dash.

When he looked up at Fallout with that grin, though, the other Seeker didn’t even need to say anything.

“They’re coming! Supernova’s Sparklings are separating!”

Fallout jumped from the table to assist his mate who doubled over trying to drag air in to cool his systems, “Why did you run here Warpspeed?!”

The purple jet blanched for a moment, then giggled wildly, looking up at his bondmate with over-bright optics, “I forgot I could warp…”

“You forgot…? I—” Fallout stopped and shook his helm ruefully, only slightly serious, “Warp, sometimes I don’t know what to do with you.”

Warpspeed suddenly glommed onto the dark green Seeker with all of his limbs, still giggling, “Oh, Fallout! They’re almost here! Can you believe it?!”

The Tomcat laughed ecstatically, spinning his jubilant mate in tight circles.

He stopped immediately when Warpspeed’s mood suddenly plunged and the purple flyer let out a muffled sob into Fallout’s armor. The clinging Seeker clutched his mate tightly, shaking against the larger ‘bot.

“Warp, I think we ought to go to our room now, Sweetspark.”

The purple F-15 nodded and within a blink, the couple was gone.

No one noticed the pair’s disappearance, too wrapped in the excitement of the birth of a new generation; no one save Jazz and Prowl.  
\--------------------

All Protostar remembered of the run to the infirmary was taking a spill going around a corner too fast and crashing into Sunstreaker, leaving paint streaks all over his fresh golden coat.

The frontliner became immediately livid, grabbing the wild femme by the shoulders and slamming her against the wall, “I hope you realize you’re gonna pay for that, femme!”

Protostar’s optics flash with unholy light and Sunstreaker only had a single moment to regret manhandling the white ‘bot before Protostar threw him on his back with a resounding clang and getting into the massive Autobot’s handsome faceplates.

“Listen here, you two-bit processing unit, my _sparklings_ are being born and I _swear_ if your slagging dumb-aft causes me to miss any one of them coming into this world, you’ll regret it every day for the _rest of your life_! Even your own _brother_ won’t recognize your sorry scrap heap when I’m through with you.” The femme spat a filthy curse at Sunstreaker in Cybertronix, jumped up and resumed her sprint to the infirmary. The frontliner didn’t move for several moments, too shocked that someone other than Jazz, Prowl, Sideswipe, or Ratchet had managed to so completely cow him. He made a note to himself to never slag Protostar off ever again.

Meanwhile, said femme skidded into the medbay to the sight of Stardancer fluttering anxiously around Ratchet who was hovering carefully over the open stomach plates of Supernova. The larger femme spied her mate, a relieved smile sliding onto her face as she held out her hand for Protostar. Ratchet turned to the Datsun with a small smile, “You’ve made it just in time.” He said as Protostar wrapped bother her servos around Supernova’s. “The first Sparkling has just disengaged from the creation chamber; I was just about to help him out. Stardancer, would you assist me, please?” The mech gestured for the agitated femme to grab a pair of surgical scissors, “When I lift him out, I want you to cut that cord right there.” After a moment of shifting, and a quiet _snip_ , Ratchet was freeing the Sparkling from his carrier.

Protostar shared a wonderstruck look with her mate, then stepped forward and very gently accepted her creation from the medibot.

The tiny mech already had most of his color: deep silver, with slight black and light blue accents. He was one of the Praxian frames, and as Protostar gazed down at the mini version of Stardancer, the little ‘bot onlined his optics with a _fitz_ , revealing the brightest pair of blue optics Protostar had ever seen.

“Silverlight…” Stardancer said softly from her position peering over Protostar’s shoulder strut, “His name should be Silverlight.” She reached out and caressed the side of the baby’s helm.

The Newspark looked over at the bigger, femme version of him, then up at Protostar, then around the medbay, before gurgling and shutting down again and going into recharge.

“Alright, the next one’s disengaged and he’s ready to see the world. Protostar, if you’d like, you can lay Silverlight on that cot there. He’ll be fine for right now; Stardancer, cut this please.”

Another near-silent _snip_ and the next mech came out wailing, his tinny cries making Silverlight flinch in his sleep. Protostar lifted the Sparkling into her arms, only to get socked in the jawstrut by a wayward pede. The blow made her stumble back a step and the sudden movement caused the mechling to freeze and look up at his sparker in innocent confusion, babbling questioningly. Protostar steadied the babe with one servo and rubbed her face with the other, “Well, that was unexpected, but Primus he packs a punch…”

Supernova suddenly gripped Protostar’s elbow very seriously, “I want to name him Wildstrike.”

The white femme jerked. Stardancer took the Sparkling from her mate’s servos when the baby whimpered. The silver femme cooed and rocked the child to calm him into recharge. The teal and dark purple mechling burbled and wasted no time powering down, little white servos clenched on his creator’s chest armor.

Protostar stared hard at her prone mate, trying to discern her reasoning for the sudden declaration, “Why…?”

Supernova smiled through a grimace, “Remember, I’m older than you, Sweetspark. I was around long enough to get to know your creator. When you were born, she made a comment that you were calmer than she was when she separated; she said she actually punched her creator hard enough to leave a dent on his cheek, earning her designation. I think, perhaps, it would be honoring her to name our son after her. And if I’m not mistaken, there seems to be a dent in your chin, darling.”

Protostar shuddered and leaned down to kiss the Seeker fiercely, “ _Thank you,_ ”

Ratchet watched the exchange interestedly, “Your little Seekerling isn’t ready to come out yet, so we’ll wait a few minutes for him to make up his mind. Why so much emotion behind that name may I ask?”

Protostar took in a steadying intake, “My sire’s name was Wildstrike. When I was a youngling, she rallied the other Praxians aboard our ship to traverse the mines for an energy source. When they left, I followed them… and I watched them die. I watched as the ceiling of the cave system collapsed on top of them. Fallout found me a joor after the collapse and he, Warpspeed, and the rest of the Seekers raised us Praxians from then on.”

“She never quite got over the incident…” Stardancer murmured from the other side of Supernova.

Ratchet hummed, “I think naming your Sparkling after her would be a beautiful way to honor her memory. Oh, and it looks like the little Seeker wishes to meet his creators. Come here, Stardancer.”

And before Protostar could regain her bearings, she was being handed her last Sparkling and her breath was ripped straight from her intakes.

In her arms cooing without a care, was the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen. The tiny Seeker was pure white, like Earth snow, with thin stripes of the palest blue and yellow along the length of his miniscule wings. Only his face plates were any darker, being a shining silver. And his optics… oh his optics… such a bright, warm gold, Protostar’s own optics held no candle. An image formed in her CPU of this carefree Seeker as a full-grown mech, soaring through the blue skies of this small planet, his carrier right there beside him as they chased the clouds across the endless expanse, while below, their ground-bound family raced after them along the flat plains of the surface of this earthen world, basking in the sight of the two Seekers flying with untroubled joy.

“Cloudracer,”

The mini-Seeker gazed up at Protostar adoringly. He reached up with tiny servos and she leant far enough for him to bracket her cheeks with warm palms. The femme slid a finger under one hand, and watched in awe as the babe struggled to wrap his servo all the way around, but seemed happy enough to clasp the offered appendage and drop into recharge, safe in his creator’s arms.  
\--------------------

Several minutes later, Ratchet manually closed Supernova’s fuselage, then checked all the Sparklings with all the care of his station, making sure all their newborn programs were stable and healthy, and that their frames had developed properly. After nearly an hour, he left the new family in the secluded corner of the medbay with the assurance that they could go back to their quarters soon. Though, before he vacated their presence, the mech pulled Protostar aside for a moment with the parting comment, “We will need to talk soon. Not now, but before the week is out, I will need to see you in my office.” And then he was gone, striding out the door which cycled shut and locked behind him.

Protostar puzzled over the exchange, but quickly pushed it to the back of her CPU when Cloudracer whimpered on the cot that had been pushed against Supernova’s.

Stardancer looked up from where she was whispering sweetly to Wildstrike, and Supernova remained asleep with Silverlight who had been parked securely on her warm cockpit, splayed comfortably over his carrier’s Sparkpulse with the colorful femme’s large hand resting across his tiny back, anchoring her Sparkling to her chestplates.

Protostar lifted the upset baby into her arms and lay down on her side on the berth beside Supernova with Cloudracer cradled protectively in the crook of her elbow. Little coolant tears trailed from the white mechling’s optics as he looked up at his creator. Protostar shushed him gently and started to hum a lullaby that she’d become fond of.

“ _Come stop your crying_  
_it will be alright._  
_Just take my hand_  
_Hold it tight._  
  
_I will protect you_  
_from all around you._  
_I will be here_  
_don’t you cry.”_

Cloudracer’s golden optics traced Protostar’s face sleepily, as the Sparkling stopped whimpering and settled deeper into the femme’s hold. She stroked her child’s helm with a single digit, following the path of his cheek seam to his jaw and back up again. The white mech relaxed even further, optics shuttering offline with a gusty outtake. Protostar was so entranced by her tiny counterpart, that she missed the sound of the medbay door cycling open. Stardancer, on the other servo, didn’t, and she looked back at Ratchet, Optimus Prime, Prowl, and Jazz with a finger to her lipplates in the universal signal for silence.

“ _For one so small_  
_you seem so strong._  
_My arms will hold you_  
_keep you safe and warm._

_This bond between us_  
_can’t be broken._  
_I will be here  
_don’t you cry.”__

The femme’s dusky voice wrapped the lullaby with love and security as she sang to her child. Her impromptu audience couldn’t complain either, for she had a lovely voice that carried well despite its softness.

“ _‘Cause you’ll be in my spark_  
_Yes, you’ll be in my spark._  
_From this day on_  
_now and forever more._

_When destiny calls you,_  
_you must remain strong_  
_I may not be with you_  
_but you’ve got to hold on._  
_You’ll see in time,_  
_I know…”_

Stardancer hummed along under her intakes as Protostar repeated the chorus. Wildstrike was asleep already and needed no calming, but she enjoyed the song. The Prime’s optics were soft at the picture the new creator made with her creation, curled around him on the cot, her doorwings limp behind her. Her slumbering mate made an equally adorable sight as she held her firstborn steady on her cockpit even in her sleep. Jazz was clicking and cooing unrepentantly, while his mate watched on with a small smile. Optimus turned from the private scene to share a knowing look with his CMO before ushering his officers from the bay door with a promise to come by later, once the family was asleep or had gone back to their quarters.


	4. The Inevitable Collapse of Society Concerning All Things Cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically, everyone loses their _minds_ over the babies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've kind of accepted the fact that this story will never be the highlight of the Transformers fandom here on AO3, but I want everyone to know that their kudos means the world to me, as well as their comments! Thank you all so much for the support y'all have given me in regards to this fic!

 

As promised, the new family was released from the medbay within a day to settle the Sparklings in their new home, and, as promised, Protostar returned to speak with Ratchet.

“Come in,” was the reply to the femme’s knock on the CMO’s office door. She pressed the pad and the obstruction cycled open with a soft whoosh, allowing Protostar entrance.

Ratchet looked up, “Ah, Protostar, good that you came. It’s not below me to track down unwilling patients myself to drag their sorry afts here forcefully.”

“Am I a patient… or about to be? I’d like to be informed before I’m granted bodily harm in need of fixing.” She quipped back sardonically. The white mech chuckled, pushing aside a datapad and gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

“Not as such, no. Actually, it’s not you we’re about to discuss; I needed to speak to you about your Sparklets.”

Protostar adopted a concerned expression, “Is there a problem?”

“Not yet, and that’s the core of the issue,” Ratchet leveled a grave stare at the slender femme, “As you know, we are at war, and we have been for millennia now. The Decepticons… they’re not above using unsavory tactics to bring about desired results. What I’m trying to say: Protostar, I don’t want to leave your mechlings defenseless.”

Now the femme looked confused, “I don’t understand.”

“Protostar, a  Sparkling , especially ones as young as yours—they’re vulnerable, and I understand that you and yours are fully capable mechas, but I want to cover every possible base. I’ve discussed this with Prime, and I think that your Sparklings should be upgraded to youngling frames early. Not immediately, I want to give them time to adjust to being, but soon. Within the next six months, if at all possible. I know this is a difficult decision, which is why I want you to discuss this with your mates, with Warpspeed and Fallout and the rest of your family. In the meantime, while you consider this, I, alongside Wheeljack, our Chief Engineer, will prepare youngling frames based off their current ones in case the worst comes to pass and they are necessary.” The CMO leaned forward against his desk with an uncharacteristically sympathetic expression, “I’m afraid, had we let you roam Earth unprotected, your Sparklings would have been in even more danger than by having you here, as much as evidence points to the  contrary. We want them—and you—safe, so we’re trying to offer you as much help as physically possible. I want them to be  children  for as long as possible, but, unfortunately, they don’t have that luxury, like most of us, so I want to give them a fighting chance. Will you think about it, please?”

Protostar sat in stunned silence. It was too soon… Her babies had just separated; it was too soon to discuss such heavy topics about her children’s welfare, their future. “What are the risks?”

Ratchet leaned back, “There aren’t many; at least, not many besides the obvious. Transferring a Spark from frame to frame prematurely is always a little dangerous, but it’s much easier to accomplish when the relocation is performed by someone who knows what they’re doing—namely myself. It’s also not uncommon for situations like this to occur in times such as these, where a Sparkling must advance earlier than normal. Hot Rod is a prime example. His creators were killed in the first acts of the war, and his youngling frame wasn’t even a thought in their processors. So, we had to build him one and transfer him early. During this time, he was taught most of the skills he uses today. This, of course, was vorns ago, and he’s occupied his adult frame for a long while now, but the circumstances are much the same, barring the death of his creators versus you all being very much alive and well.”

“And size differences? As Praxians, Stardancer and I aren’t  large  but we aren’t small either, and Supernova is bigger than we are by a fair bit, though even  she  isn’t large by Vos standards. We expect Cloudracer to be her size or larger when he’s fully grown while his brothers will most likely be Prowl’s size. How big will their youngling frames be?”

“As Sparklings, their size differences aren’t going to be very pronounced. Most mid-to-large-frame-type Sparklings are all roughly the same size, while minibot offspring are noticeably smaller. This, as you probably know, is an evolutionary change, an adaptation that allows Sparklings to be more easily hidden or considered less of a target in times like these. As younglings, their sizes will differ. From what I’ve seen, Vosnians are generally tall, lanky younglings because that’s the time when their processors are starting to form the necessary codes that control their launch and landing protocols, as well as thruster and turbine ignition  sequencing, so they need to learn to work with long legs meant for strong takeoffs. His wings will be broader, but not meant for much flight. At that size, they’re meant to stabilize and balance while the youngling starts learning to hover. I can always put a medical block on the construction of such software until you feel he is old enough to understand the responsibility properly.

“Praxians, on the other servo, don’t look much different throughout their frames. Their doorwings will  have to be built on the nub-components, to allow them to learn how to balance properly,  but they won't be transformation capable. Truthfully, they’ll look like mini versions of you and Stardancer. Or Prowl, considering they’re mechs and not femmes. Their builds will reflect Prowl and Smokescreen, becoming boxier, as opposed to your sleeker  femme-build. Cloudracer should come up to your hip, just shy of minibot height, and Silverlight and Wildstrike will be just a bit shorter than him, probably just a little taller than Eject or Rewind.  And won’t they be thrilled to have someone their size to roughhouse with? ” Ratchet snerked.  “That basically covers everything, I think. We have all the necessary parts, but should we need anything, we can produce it ourselves, or make a requisition of one of the Moon Bases, and they should be able to ship it to us.”

“Actually, if you’re going to go ahead with the frames, I’d like to make a request,” Protostar leaned forward in her seat, “As you can probably tell, my armor is not normal metal, nor Cybertronian in make. Solarwind, Stardancer, and my armor is made, and you can verify all the tech specs with Prowl so long as they are guarded with every possible precaution, from Graphene. I would like my  Sparklings’ armor to be made of the same material. There is more than enough on the Discovery for more than a few adult frames, and now that I don’t have to worry about the Decepticons getting their servos on it, I don’t see why it should go to waste. It won’t make them invulnerable, but it will give my children more of a fighting chance, should… should something go wrong.

“As for actually getting my mates to agree, I will converse with them. As much as I don’t like it, I can see the logic, and Supernova will as well. Stardancer will most  likely put up the most fuss, but with Supernova and I against her, she’ll be forced to face facts.” Protostar stood from her chair and nodded at the Medibot gracefully, lifting her wings in respect for the senior mech. “Is there anything else?”

“Has Optimus sent you a missive yet?”

Doorwings fluttered momentarily in confusion, “Not as of yet. Why?”

Ratchet smirked, “He, ah—how should I put this…? He wishes to formally introduce the bratlings to the officer corps, and then, eventually, the rest of the city. I expect you’ll be receiving an official request soon to present the little ones to the Autobots as the “hope of all of Cybertron”. After all, this  _is_  the first generation born since the start of the war… It’s a “momentous occasion; one meant to be celebrated.””

“Where have I heard those words before…?” The femme asked dryly, inciting a chuckle from the normally cantankerous mech.    
\--------------------

Warpspeed went absolutely crazy over the babies from the moment he laid optics on them. 

Fortunately, the new caretakers predicted this reaction, so they didn’t unleash the Seeker upon their creations until the next day to allow them all a full night’s rest—and give Protostar the chance to bring up Ratchet’s suggestions (which went about how she predicted).

Most Cybertronian adult upgrades came with all that was necessary for caretaking; what activated most of these accessories were the latent caretaker-protocols that were encoded during their final processor upgrades. Protocols that activated completely the very second the new creators got full visual of their bitty creations. So, the morning after their ‘birth’, when the children woke whimpering and hungry for their first tank of diluted, filtered, nutrient-rich energon, Protostar, Supernova, and Stardancer immediately knew it was to be pulled directly from their  own tanks via a mesh feeding line that was stored in specialized wrist-casings.

As Protostar lifted Silverlight easily from the small berth he shared with his brothers, she felt the casing in her wrist armor click open, and she shook out the  small coil of mesh tubing, grabbing it between her fingers. Careful not to crush the delicate filament, the femme tapped it twice against the baby’s clenched lipplates. 

“Open up, little ‘Light, I have something for you, Sweet Spark.” Beside her, Supernova and Stardancer offered the same tubing to Wildstrike and Cloudracer respectively.

All three  Sparklings accepted the tubes with greedy anticipation, suckling until the soft glow of processed energon shown through the thin webbing. As they ate, the caretakers slowly rocked and swayed, helping to settle the energon as it was ingested. They shared loving looks with each other between staring adoringly down at their beautiful newlings. Eventually, the  Sparklings released the energon lines, starting to look around the room animatedly, babbling and beeping and excited to explore their new world. The femmes knew, through their newly implemented  Sparkling-speak coding, that the babies wanted to be let down, so the creators complied, setting the eager little ones on the floor to scurry about. Supernova sent out a reluctant  comm  to Fallout to inform Warpspeed and the others that they could come meet the Sparklings.

That Warpspeed didn’t even bother with the door and instead warped directly into the femmes’ quarters didn’t surprise them at all. The  Sparklings, on the other servo, nearly jumped from their plastic-based armor in shock, squeaking at a pitch that made the offending Seeker cringe. The  Sparklings, though, stared up at the new mech in awe. Supernova was the biggest ‘bot they knew, so to see Warpspeed, who was both taller and broader than his pseudo-niece, was a bit overwhelming.

Protostar was curious to see how they reacted to Fallout.

Or Skyfall, for that matter…

She was about to find out, because the door was cycling open and the rest of her small family was standing in the hall, peeking in as though searching for a rabid mechanimal.   


Warpspeed was totally clueless, too busy scooping up the bitty ‘bots and cuddling them enthusiastically—much to the babies’ utter glee—to notice his family’s needless caution.

Protostar crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, “Are you going to come in, or continue prepping for an attack from my completely harmless Sparklings.”

Fallout shouldered the younger generation out of the way, folding his wings so he could fit through the door, “If these bit-brains would move—” The dark green Seeker strode forward to kiss Supernova gently on the cheek, “How are you?”

The femme smiled wanly, but contentment shined in her demeanor, “I’m tired, but it’s nothing I can’t fix with a good recharge and a defrag to reset my systems, which I’ll get tonight, once these soon-to-be-trouble-makers fall into recharge themselves.”

Fallout chuckled.

“Fallout, look!” the purple and blue Seeker held up Cloudracer excitedly, “Isn’t he the most gorgeous little Seekerling you’ve ever seen?” He cooed and clicked at the child in Seeker-tongue, “I can’t wait to teach him to fly! Oh, he’ll be beautiful to watch, especially in this blue sky…” Warpspeed sighed wistfully. Silverlight and Wildstrike, sensing Warpspeed’s waning attention, wriggled from his hold, only to be scooped up again by Fallout who laughed at their pouts.

Solarwind and Blackhole leaned around Fallout, and Skyfall peered over his shoulder, all three mechs observing their nephews curiously. Silverlight stood up on Fallout’s arm to pat Skyfall’s faceplates experimentally. The large mech smiled and lifted the mechling out of Fallout’s hold, curling him close and tickling his abdominal armor, getting a giggle from the child.

Solarwind, meanwhile, made ridiculous faces at Wildstrike, who squealed in delight.

The day continued much like that, with the winged family entertaining three little Newsparks, and Protostar had no doubt that the entirety of the Autobot ranks were sitting on the edge of their collective seat, wondering when the new creators and their creations would resurface. But that was neither here nor there, and eventually, the Sparklings dropped into recharge in laps or arms, or hanging off a shoulder in Silverlight’s case, and they were settled into their cot for the rest of the night. Their extended family left after a multitude of congratulations, and Protostar and her stunning, gorgeous mates—riding on a high of  _‘Oh my Primus, our family is finally, finally complete’ _ —fell into their  large  berth  (customized to support mechas with wings)  with hushed words of love and tender touches, hardline connections (among other different, but equally pleasurable connections) and several overloads of the electrifying type. Afterwards, as they lay half offline from energy depletion and still twitching from the small arcs of electricity that crackled across their armor, Protostar and Stardancer snuggled up to either side of the already deeply recharging Supernova and grinned at each other without remorse over exhausting their lover so well. It wasn’t long after that that they followed her loyally into recharge, anticipating the rest of their lives with their family.   
\-------------------

Half a week later, the missive that Ratchet mentioned came while the family lounged around their quarters, learning more about their children’s unique personalities. Supernova received it, passed it on to her mates, and replied a confirmation within a few seconds. Optimus wanted to start formal introductions beginning on the morrow.

The first Autobots to officially meet Silverlight, Wildstrike, and Cloudracer were the high-ranking officers. This was a fairly extensive list of bots, and it was partly a test to see how the  Sparklings reacted to relatively large groups of individuals that weren't their immediate family.

Mostly, it was a chance for the saps to coo over the little ones without anyone else trying to whisk them away. Protostar knew this, and she knew  they  knew she knew this, but they insisted on continuing the ruse of a professional meeting and welcoming of the babies into their midst.

So, when they—Protostar and her mates—carried their progeny into the large conference room, meeting the many faces of Optimus' closest confidants, she and Stardancer started up a bet over their bond—much to Supernova's chagrin—about what would set them off and how long it would take.

Cloudracer took one look at Prowl and his proudly held doorwings, and immediately made a connection between the SiC and his own creators,  holding  his servos out with a chirp of greeting to the former-Enforcer.

The entire room melted.

(And Stardancer owed her mate a cube of high-grade.)

Prowl seemed floored that the mechling had singled him out of the group, warily regarding the child. Cloudracer wriggled in Protostar's hold, beeping  to be let down, which the femme granted, settling her son on the ground gently. The  Sparkling was off like a shot, darting over to Prowl and scaling him like a climb-frame, coming up with a victorious chirp in Prowl's stunned faceplates much like he had started to do with Protostar and Stardancer. Jazz laughingly crooned over his mate's shoulder, smiling at the child cheerfully.

"Why, hello, li'l mech! How're you!" Jazz trilled, happily conversing with Cloudracer. The Sparkling smiled widely, reaching out with one tiny hand to pat Jazz's face in greeting. The white Seekerling hoisted himself up to perch on Prowl's shoulder, seeming for all the world like he wasn't ever coming down, so content was he to observe the room from his new vantage point.

Protostar chuckled at the other Praxian's cowed expression, but didn't move to remove her child from his frame. Cloudracer knew not to mess with the mech’s doorwings—a lesson he’d learned not three days previous—as they were sensitive.

Silverlight and Wildstrike weren't as adventurous as their brother, but they asked in warbles and cheeps to be released to explore the new environment as they pleased.

Wildstrike had no trouble finding a friend in Ratchet, of all mechs, standing resolutely in front of the medic who’d helped bring him into this world  with his arms raised until the white and red CMO picked him up with a resigned expression. Though, when the little mechling cheeped cutely at the grouchy bot and smiled in an adorable fashion, Protostar knew the ornery mech was gone. Ironhide and Red Alert, on either side of the medic, leaned in closer to get good looks at the tiny Praxian, one with a smile, the other with scrutiny. No doubt Red Alert was fritzing in his CPU  about  how he was going to keep an eye on things that were so clearly security risks with their small size. Ironhide, in his advanced age, was just overjoyed at seeing a new generation come into being.

Silverlight was much more timid than either of his brothers, and was carefully avoiding pedes as he wandered the room. That is, until he stumbled over the biggest pair yet. As small as he was, looking up —

Up—

_Up_ into the masked face of one Optimus Prime was a daunting experience and he squeaked in fright, freezing on the spot. Optimus chuckled softly, kneeling all of his great mass to be on more even ground with the Sparkling.

"Hello, Little One, I am Optimus Prime. Don't be afraid." The Prime smiled reassuringly at the tiny mechling, who unwound all his little struts and cables to pat Optimus' battle mask in curiosity. A click sounded within the mechanism, startling Silverlight, as the mask retreated from the Prime's open smile. Silverlight seemed fascinated, stepping forward to trail his servos all over the red and blue leader's nasal ridge and chin structure, before making the universal gesture for 'Up' by raising his hands impatiently and bleeping.

Optimus chuckled, pulling the child into his arms and rising to his full height, which practically towered over every other bot in the room. Silverlight was unsurprisingly out of this world with awe and clutched the Prime's smokestack tightly when the mech set the mechling on his shoulder. 

Smokescreen had migrated over to Prowl to greet the little Seekerling conversing with Jazz in  Sparkling talk. Inferno peeked over Red Alert, observing Wildstrike with a kindly smile as the babe babbled unintelligibly up at Ratchet, who played along nodding at apparently all the right times. Perceptor and all three of the gestalt leaders peered up at Silverlight with interest.

Wheeljack happily flounced between all three, never staying with one for long, trying to split his time evenly. The Sparklings were giggling at the energetic mech's antics before he'd made his third round.

"They're beautiful li'l mechlings, femmes. Ya should be proud," Jazz intoned once Cloudracer turned to babble at Prowl. "Sunstreaker'll prolly blow a fuse in glee once he gets a good look at Cloudy here. One o' the most beautiful fliers Ah ever saw, and Ah'm, begrudgingly, includin' 'Screamer in that." 

Optimus chuckled, "Somehow, I feel that Starscream would not object to this opinion." Silverlight's optics widened as he felt the vibrations from Prime's laughter rumble through his little frame.

"Starscream…  the Air Commander and SiC of the Decepticons? The red and blue and white Seeker that Blackhole was having trouble with?" Protostar asked. She thought on his form when she was given a confirmation, nodding at the appeal of his sleek framework and broad, powerful wings, "I can see why you would think that, coming from someone who has lived amongst  fliers  for their entire life. He certainly has a very gorgeous build-to-power ratio, and his flying skills seem to be unmatched. But," Protostar smiled as she approached her little white Seekerling, who grinned back and scuttled down from Prowl's shoulder and into her arms, where she nuzzled him tenderly, "My little mech will be out flying him in no time, won't you, Sweet Spark ?"

Cloudracer giggled cheerfully in reply, not really understanding what his creator was saying. He bumped forehelms with her once more, then scrambled back to Prowl, who had softened towards the sweet bitty ‘bot considerably.

Protostar stroked her son's helm with one finger, giving Prowl a long glance, "He seems to have taken a liking to you." 

The other Praxian was unsure of how to reply, but before he could think of anything adequate, the femme wandered away to tickle Wildstrike, who squirmed, squealing, in Ratchet's arms. The old mech laughed at the Sparkling's antics and took up where Protostar left off, playing with her Sparkling. Ironhide joined in after a moment, prodding at the little Praxian's pedes just to hear his breathless giggles.

“We came here to discuss how we would divide up the introductions to the rest of the crew.” Supernova spoke up to the room at large.

Optimus nodded, careful with the Sparkling on his shoulder, “Yes, we should get to that. Did you have any plan in mind, or would you like to hear mine?”

Supernova made a ‘continue’ gesture with her servo, “Please, go on. You know your crew and city much better than I do. Far be it for me to take lead of an operation you have clear control over.”

Stardancer laughed over near Wheeljack, who was giggling with Wildstrike, “’Nova, you make this sound like a military strike, not our  Spark ling s being presented to other ‘bots. Calm down, let Prime do what he does best, Love.”

The Prime laughed, “I don’t know about all that, but I’m pleased that you trust me so.” He reached out with one large finger to steady Silverlight when the mechling wobbled, “As I was saying, I believe we should do this in shifts. Right now, our on-duty mechas are busy and our off-duty mechas are scattered, either recharging for their shifts tonight, or relaxing. When the mechs that are working right now come back, they’ll no doubt be ready for recharge themselves. So, I figured we’d just let you settle in the rec-area. Eventually, everyone goes through there: to get energon, to socialize, to relax. At some point or another, all of my ‘bots will see the Sparklings.

“Of course, I don’t want you to sit out all day and night, so that’s where the shifts come in. During the shift today, whoever doesn’t show by a certain time doesn’t get to see the  Spark ling s until tomorrow or later. I don’t want my ‘bots to search you out, which I’ll  tell  them  in a comm while  I escort you to the rec-room. That being said, you  do  live in the residential area, so I expect you’ll eventually run into someone  on the way to or from somewhere;  it’s inevitable.”

“That’s completely agreeable,” Supernova intoned, “Probably better than just wandering around and hoping to run into someone.”

At the incredulous looks from the officers, Supernova frowned, “What?”

“We never said we were any good at strategy. ” Protostar quipped with a cheeky  smirk.

“Very well,” Optimus started, “If you’ll follow me, we can head to the rec-hall. Everyone else, get back to whatever it was you were doing.” Over his shoulder the left a last remark, “Prowl, I left some datapads on your desk; please have them reviewed and returned by this afternoon.”

The black and white nodded, reaching up to pull Cloudracer off his shoulder, “Very well, Prime,”

Cloudracer struggled for a moment in Prowl’s hold, pitching forward to get his tiny arms around the SiC’s helm in a hug with a parting cheep of goodbye, one that left Prowl wide-eyed and Jazz all but melting at the cuteness. The Seekerling escaped Prowl’s slack grip and scurried into his creator’s arms, snuggling down with a chirp of greeting.

Protostar giggled at the other Datsun’s slack-jawed expression, “Careful now, Prowl, if Cloudracer falls for you anymore, he may try to go home with you, and then where will I be?”

“Without a Sparklin’ ‘cuz Ah’d nevah let ‘im go again!” Jazz crowed, wiggling his fingers at the baby in farewell.

Protostar laughed as she followed her mates and the Prime out the meeting room and into the hall. They took several turns, passed through a bit of an open-ceiling passage where the  Spark ling s got their first glimpse of Earth’s blue, blue sky, and then several more turns before reaching the rec-area. There were already ‘bots there, and they all jumped to their pedes when their leader and the three new caretakers entered.

“Optimus! What brings you here?” Ultra Magnus was very similar in build to his brother, so much so that had you not known they were siblings, you could’ve made an educated guess .

“Magnus, how is your leg?” Optimus’ optics trailed worriedly down his younger brother’s frame, concerned on the progress of his recovery. During the now infamous battle over the  Discovery , Ultra Magnus’ left leg had been blown clear off by Astrotrain when the ‘bot tried to block the Decepticon from answering Megatron’s orders of retreat. He still hasn’t been cleared for active duty due to Ratchet still needing a certain transformative cog to replace the one that was destroyed by the blast.

The tall-shouldered mech waved his brother’s worry away, “The only thing wrong is that I can’t transform, otherwise I’m fine.”

Silverlight chose that moment to draw attention to himself by squeaking a greeting  to the new mech who looked so much like his perch. The little silver mechling leaned forward to comically scrutinize Ultra Magnus, then leaned around to look into Prime’s faceplates to do the same.

Ultra Magnus just gaped, absolutely shocked at the little Sparkling riding on his brother’s shoulder without care. He’d obviously met their carrier, and he knew through gossip that they’d separated, but he hadn’t realize d they were already running around to  meet the Autobots.

Silverlight leaned forward again, opening his arms in an invitation to lift him from the Prime’s shoulder. He burbled happily when Magnus complied.

And suddenly Ultra Magnus was the most popular mech in the city as the entirety of the rec-room crowded around him to get a closer look at the giggle little Newspark .

Wildstrike decided he didn’t like not being paid attention to, so he squealed loudly and with feeling. A large blue mech broke off from the pack and sped over.

Literally.

“Heythere! YoumstbethenewSparklingsthey’veallbeentalingabout!! HiI’mBlurr! It’snicetomeetyou!” He moved so fast around Supernova that she nearly flinched back, but the movement was smooth instead of jerky, like  someone who knew how to control their actions until not a single move was wasted, despite the phenomenal speed. She hadn’t had more than a few minutes contact with this particular mech during their first week on base, but she knew of him. A Wrecker working under the old mech Kup. 

“Settle down, Blurr. You’re going to give the poor Sparkling a processor lock up.” A red and white ‘bot said as he ambled up, mouth covered with a mask and optics protected  by  a blue visor. His left shoulder proudly displayed a red medibot’s cross and though he hadn’t been in the medbay when the  Spark ling s separated, this was obviously the Protectobot First Aid, one of Ratchet’s apprentices .

The red mech gently patted Wil dstrike on the helm. First Aid’s facial protection gave away none of his expression, but Supernova could tell he was smiling. It was also a wonder to watch as Blurr physically slowed his motions down to a visible level, moving at a speed that was only just a little faster than a normal mech, as soon as First Aid spoke.

Supernova felt this was a normal reaction for Blurr, so much so that no one paid it any attention anymore. The mech was so used to being told to slow down, he did so without thought. He grinned cheerily at the medibot; obviously he wasn’t irritated by the admonishment. Wildstrike chirred curiously at First Aid, and Supernova obligingly handed the tiny teal mech to the Protectobot when he reached for him. She was noticing a pattern with her middle son: he gravitated towards medibots, for whatever reason.

She moved around the two mechs and her son, stepping over to Protostar, who was also Sparkling-less, having put Cloudracer on the ground to roam freely. Of course, once he stumbled into Skyfire, who was, at the moment, the biggest mech in the room, he was begging to be picked up again. The scientist was only happy to see another true Seekerling, lifting him to eye-level to listen to the mechling babble and replying in perfect Seeker-tongue, though the Sparkling didn’t understand.

The creators found a table to sit at while their creations ran wild. Slowly, the rec-room cleared out of everyone but Ultra Magnus, who sat at h is own table waiting for his mate . On his lap was a tiring Silverlight, doodling abstractly on a spare datapad Magnus had with him. Wildstrike and Cloudracer were tumbling around together, squeaking and cheeping and giggling at each other. Wildstrike beeped in protest when Cloudracer got up to take a lap around the room, his brother staying doggedly at his heels.

That was how the next batch of Autobots found them… or, really, how Cloudracer found the next batch of Autobots, seeing as he literally tripped over Sunstreaker’s pede and crashed to the floor in an uncontrolled tangle of tiny limbs. The Seekerling was dazed for a moment before he started to keen.

Protostar was already on her pedes to rush over, but Sunstreaker hastily  scooped  the Sparkling up against his chestplates, unconsciously shushing and soothing his servo down the white Seekerling’s back between his  where his wings would be. Wildstrike was not pleased, kicking at the yellow Frontliner’s pede and beeping angrily for his brother back. A black hand reached down and scruffed him, depositing the Sparkling in the hand’s twin and bringing him facepl ate to faceplate with Sideswipe.

“Whoa, hey, calm down, little mech! Your brother’s fine, see?” The red twin moved his arm to position the teal mechling near his brother, who was whimpering and teary-optic’d, but fine.

“See, no harm done,  but  you should be more careful,” Sideswipe chastised, “I’m all for fun and games, but running around underneath bigger mechas’ pedes will get you hurt.” Wildstrike and Cloudracer didn’t understand the words, but the tone was clear enough, and they ducked their heads, squeaking apologies. “Just don’t do it again, ‘kay?”

“Look at you, Sides! You sound like a sire; so responsible,” Hot Rod snickered, grinning at his friend impertinently .

Sideswipe’s return grin was nasty, “I’d be careful what you say, Roddy. I doubt your mate would like me very much if I painted you pink …” The implication of retribution was there like a promise. The flamed mech scowled, but quickly backed off and fled to Ultra Magnus when the yellow twin snarled in his direction, blue optics flashing white.

Suddenly, Bluestreak was pushing between the twins to get a good look at the Sparklets, squealing, “Oh they’re so cute!” excitedly. Sunstreaker pulled his little bundle back to get a good look at the child he’d picked up, blinking in awe at the sight of the snow-white Sparkling that stared back with sun-bright optics.

“Uh oh,” Sideswipe sing-songed, leaning around to peek at his brother’s face, “Did you just fall into artistic love, Sunny? Am I gonna hafta pry the little one away from you so his creators can have him back?”

Sunstreaker redirected his snarl to his twin as he tucked Cloudracer back to his chestplates, “No…”  His grumble was unconvincing to the mech who knew him better than anyone else, but Sideswipe didn’t argue.

“Ratchet will be pleased to know there’s someone else you can pester while he’s on duty.” Sideswipe continued.

The yellow Frontliner glowered darkly, flicking his optics at his brother, “He’s always on duty, bolts for brains . He’s the CMO.”

Sideswipe flapped his servo dismissively, “Eh, details…”

“Idiot…” Sunstreaker put Cloudracer down when he started squirming. Wildstrike indicated he also wanted down, and Sideswipe settled him next to his brother generously.

Wildstrike took a second to pat his brother down, seriously checking for injuries—and when did the Sparkling learn to do that— then shoving Cloudracer playfully, making the white Seekerling giggle and resume their play, more carefully now.

Sideswipe nudged Sunstreaker with his elbow, “Remind you of anyone?”

“If you scratch my paint I’m remind you of something …” The big yellow ‘bot growled lowly.

“Oh Primus, look at them!” Bluestreak crowed, “So adorable! Do you think Protostar will let me watch the sometime? I bet ‘Jack would love it! He’s been talking about them all morning over the bond, even more than I have! Primus, I wish I could have one. Do you think I’d make a good carrier? I don’t think I would, but they’re so cute!”

Sunstreaker sighed, patting his almost-brother on the helm patronizingly.

The grey and red mech swatted his servo away indignantly, “Don’t do that! Jeez, you know I think you and Sides would make good creators, but Ratchet would be a great carrier. He’s pretty caring when he’s not throwing wrenches at people and cussing up a storm, which is all the time, now that I think about it…”

“If you just scratched my finish, I swear…”

Bluestreak waved the threat away, “You won’t do anything. ‘Jack’ll get mad, then he’ll go to Ratchet, who’ll already want to slag your aft for messing me up, and then both of them will be mad at you, and then you won’t get any from Hatchet for an orn.”

Sideswipe guffawed, doubling over in laughter, “Oh my Primus…” he giggle breathlessly, “Oh my Primus, I’ve taught you so well.” The red twin threw his arms around the grey Datsun dramatically, grinning proudly, “If I wasn’t already bonded to the loves of my life, I think I would’ve fallen in love with you right now… Sunny would agree, if his helm wasn’t so far up his aft he’s wearing it like a hat.” He leaned close to stage-whisper into Bluestreak’s audial, “He’s secretly proud of the ball-bearings you’ve grown, don’t worry.”

Bluestreak grinned, “I wasn’t, but thanks for the heads up.”

On the other side of the room, Hot Rod watched a drowsy Silverlight scribble warily, much to Magnus’ amusement, “Never thought you’d be scared of a Spar ling, Roddy.”

“I’m not scared of him,” Hot Rod frowned, “I just… don’t know what to do. It’s one thing when they’re still  in  someone, but it’s different when they’re out …” the red and yellow ‘bot looked away, “What if I hurt one of them…?” he whispered.

Ultra Magnus’ shoulders dropped in sympathy, “Oh, Roddy… C’mere.” He beckoned his lover closer, levering a surprised Silverlight onto the table so he could pull his smaller mate onto his lap. Hot Rod dropped with a clang and a yelp, not prepared for Magnus’ tug. The big mech picked up the bleary-optic’d Sparkling, pad and all, in one servo and dropped him gently into Hot Rod’s arms.

The mech’s arms rearranged themselves according to the new weight, supporting the bitty Praxian easily. Ultra Magnus’ arms looped around Roddy’s waist, pulling him and the  Sparkling close to his chest, and Hot Rod wondered if this is what it felt like to be Protostar. A  Sparkling drowsing in her arms, and her mates pressed up against her, each with another one of their children in their holds. Hot Rod felt a sudden, overwhelming  _want_ … He’d had this, once upon a time, before his creators had been killed by Decepticons, and he wondered if Magnus might want this with him, one day.   


Ultra Magnus either heard the question vaguely through their bond, or Hot Rod was easier to read than he thought, but the Prime’s brother squeezed him that much tighter and started rocking, lulling the Sparkling into an easy sleep, wrapped in Hot Rod’s unusual warmth.

Protostar and her mates didn’t intervene, allowing their Sparklings to forge their own bonds. In the presence of the Autobots was the safest place their children could be, but they knew they’d always be there to watch over them, even if their Autobot friends weren’t.   
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End file.
